


Cahill University

by angelkat



Series: [collection] Rival Argentica (2014-2018) [22]
Category: The 39 Clues - Various Authors
Genre: (the anime), Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Drama, F/M, Gen, Inspired by Special A, Romance, slapstick comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:49:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 92,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21805462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelkat/pseuds/angelkat
Summary: In which the Cahills are thrown into high school. Insanity ensues./reposted Dec 15, 2019. not edited. discontinued/on permanent hiatus
Relationships: Amy Cahill/Ian Kabra, Dan Cahill/Natalie Kabra, Jonah Wizard/Sinead Starling/Hamilton Holt
Series: [collection] Rival Argentica (2014-2018) [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570921
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Getting Ready for School

It was supposed to be a secret.

It was located in Ireland, in a city currently called Wexford, in a hidden area called the Cahill Zone. It was established in about the fifteen hundreds, by a happily married couple.

The first Cahills.

The Irish, at the time, had education that was far too expensive for the minimal salary of Gideon the mad scientist and Olivia, his loyal and loving wife. They had four, equally talented children, but with Gideon's reputation as a mad scientist in the whole of Ireland, he and his family had to live in complete and utter exile. They have been shooed away from civilization, causing the poor family to be nomads. They set off into the ocean, hoping to find a new home in a new island, hopefully with far friendlier citizens to warmly welcome them.

That is, until they found land across the vast sea. They were the first people to ever step afoot in the small island, abundant of forests with wild animal life. Surely, the island had its endless natural resources that could provide the Cahills their food for a lifetime.

As Luke, Katherine, Thomas, and Jane grew up to be handsome and beautiful children, they learned the basic knowledge of life from their first teachers, Gideon and Olivia. Later on, the mad scientist Gideon found out a way through four potions on how to boost their knowledge even more—the Lucian serum, which transformed Luke's simple mind into a convoluted one; the Ekaterina serum, making Katherine a scientific genius; the Tomas serum, boosting the child Thomas' physical strength; and the Janus serum, empowering Jane's hand with vision and creativity.

But the four children fighting against each other to acquire of the others' serum was never part of Gideon's plan.

For years they fought each other, setting out to leave their parents behind. All of them built their own schools, each one of them aiming to educate their students of their special knowledge in order to defeat the others; thus, creating their followers. Some of their students were the original Cahills' direct descendants, the others not; but otherwise, they were collectively called after the school they were educated in. Lucian School was located in Paris, France, and it is said that the world's greatest leaders, spies, and politicians originally went in this school in secrecy. Ekaterina School was first built in Cairo, Egypt, educating the greatest scientists of all time. Tomas School was in Tokyo, Japan, and trained every exceptionally athletic person in this institution. Lastly, Janus School was in Vienna, Austria, where all great artists and singers went to.

But the four branches hadn't realized that another sibling, Madeline, was born after they have set out on their separate ways. Madeline was the ancestor of the Madrigals—the one branch which has united all the different schools into one through the centuries. The Madrigals made the Lucians, Ekaterinas, Janus, and the Tomas School united into _Ektomaluja University_ , which is now located in Wexford, Ireland, the original place where the Cahill family is located. That was three hundred years ago. But then, it was Grace Cahill who first proposed that all non-Cahills will be expelled from the new school, thus leaving only the original Cahill descendants to be educated.

It's because the Madrigals knew they needed unity, without blemishes from non-Cahills. It's in this unification that they could prepare for the coming of the Vespers, the Cahills' greatest enemy and sworn archrival. And if the Vespers from the Vesper Academy have their top six students in the Council of Six, well, through the evolution of time, the Cahills later on had the Elite Seven—a group of the top seven students of the Ektomaluja University.

Cahill University is the new name of the school which the Cahill matriarch Grace herself had proposed to change. To the world, it was nothing but a school—but for the Cahill family, it was a training battleground.

And no one else is supposed to know about this secret.

* * *

Angry, green cat eyes narrowed into thin slits.

" _Mrrp."_

The dark conference room was suddenly illuminated by a light coming from the closing door. Everyone turned their heads to look at the two newcomers. Faces scowled, except for one.

"You came early," said a mother of a famous celebrity, stiff in her corporate attire, and far from looking happy.

_Cora Wizard, Janus top agent. Janus branch leader. Current school supervisor; chief executive of the Elite Seven. Elite Seven salutatorian graduate._

Bright red lips curved up into a honeyed smile. Amber eyes flicked over the quiet room to greet everyone else with a charming smile, rivaling the one from that Janus imp.

"Good morning to you, too, Cora dear," the lady said in her silky accent, removing her coat to reveal a black suit underneath. Designer. An assistant quickly rushed in to get her hat and coat. "I had a spa appointment this morning, so I apologize for my tardiness. But I presume you were all waiting for me?"

The question hung in the air.

_Isabel Kabra, Lucian top agent. Head of the Lucian branch. Owns the Magni art-dealing company; vice president of the Vikratech Institute; hailed as founder of the AidWorksWonders charity. Elite Seven valedictorian graduate. Defending Top Cahill agent._

"No, we weren't," a Russian voiced out the rest of the Cahills' thoughts. Her eyes stringently held that business-like look. "We started an hour ago; there was no reason we shall wait for you."

_Irina Nikolaveina Spaskaya. Lucian branch's official spy department chief administrator. Former Russian KGB agent. Current Lucian branch second-in-command; Lucian department dean/professor. Elite Seven salutatorian graduate._

Isabel scowled; she wasn't a mere child to be rebuked by her pathetic colleagues. How dare that wretched Spasky scorn her? But the woman's scowl immediately turned to a smile. Irina was merely a pathetic lowdown Lucian professor in this pathetic lowdown university. Spaskaya was just Isabel's second-in-command as the Lucian branch leader, so who was Blinky for someone as magnificent as Isabel to look up to?

"Oh, Irina, Blinky darling," the Kabra chuckled, as she and her companion strode toward their seats. "Always taking matters so seriously. Stop being an irascible little girl; it won't be a good image for our students."

Irina's eye twitched, suddenly looking like she was controlling her temper. Her twitching eyes—that's what made people call her Blinky. _Oh, what a formidably immature nickname_. The redness on her cheeks was noticeable even under the conference room's dim light. Fortunately, an old man cleared his throat and chose to veer the topic away from Isabel's unpunctuality.

"Mrs. Kabra," he started, confidently, "I thought we have made it clear to bring no other companion except for your husband?" Fiske gestured toward Isabel's companion, who was holding his head high. "Who, perchance, might this gentleman be?"

_Fiske Cahill, vice president of the Cahill University. Madrigal professor teaching fourth year Cahills. Madrigal dean secretary and supervisor. Madrigal top agent. Elite Seven graduate, third honorable mention._

"Marvin Speede," the guest readily replied, bowing his head. "I am Mrs. Kabra's secretary."

Marvin Speede—no known Cahill relations.

An old woman, who was seated at the center of the room, looked suspiciously at Marvin as she caressed an Egyptian Mau's silver fur on her lap. "And who gave Mr. Speede the consent to come to this confidential conference?"

_Grace Cahill, matriarch of the Cahill family. Former defending Madrigal/over-all Cahill top agent for seventy-two years. Madrigal branch leader. President of the Cahill University. Straight-A graduate; Elite Seven valedictorian._

"Isabel?" Grace urged, on the edge with her voice. "Care to answer?"

The Lucian sighed dramatically. "Oh, just get _on_ with the meeting," Isabel waved it off, and relaxed down on her chair, examining her bright red fingernails. "I simply felt the need to bring my secretary."

"And you haven't chosen to bring your husband Vikram as we requested, because…?" An Asian man prodded, not letting go of the topic.

_Alistair Oh, Ekaterina agent. Elite Seven graduate, first honorable mention. Representative of the Ekaterina branch, since Gordon Oh, the Ekat branch leader, was not available for the meeting._

There was silence, the vibration of the air conditioner buzzing across the room. The light from the white screen, which flashed a PowerPoint presentation from a projector, seemed to dim even darker as all waited for an answer.

"Oh, for goodness' sakes," Isabel impatiently flipped her perfectly-made hair behind. "You must trust that he is discreet; whatever garbage we're about to discuss in this meeting, Marvin shall make it confidential. Mr. Speede is a highly-qualified secretary in our art-dealing company, working for me for _years_. And, hurry with the meeting." She made a gesture with her fingers at them, and crossed her arms over her chest, settling down in her seat. "I need to get a manicure."

The university president of Guardian School, Astrid Rosenbloom was skeptical, but smiled at Marvin. She examined the boy carefully, narrowing her eyes. His complexion was a line between fair and dark, his red suit contrasting the wave of black hair covering his dark eyes. Hmm. He looked familiar, but different. She couldn't quite put a finger on where she saw him before. She was _sure_ she saw him before. But where? As she scoured her mind for answers, she found none. The man looked like he was around twenty years old.

 _Too young to be Isabel's 'highly-qualified secretary' for, what did she say?_ she thought. _Years?_

"How old are you, dear?" Astrid couldn't help but ask the said secretary. "You seem a little bit too…young, to be a branch leader's secretary."

Marvin Speede opened his mouth to answer, but a buff, muscular PE teacher with a thunderous voice boomed angrily across the room.

"That Kabra and his henchman have had enough attention!" His large fists banged against the marble table. "Willie! Proceed with the presentation!"

_Eisenhower Holt, Tomas agent. On-and-off top Tomas agent. Defending triathlon champion in the Olympic Games. Elite Seven graduate, rank seventh._

William McIntyre, startled, began talking in front of the room as he flashed a new slide on the projector screen.

Everyone took a second good look at Marvin and a suspicious one at Isabel. They've all known the mischievous nature of their second-to-the-youngest colleague, none other than The Snake, The Deceptor, the Isabel Kabra. They all soon reluctantly turned their attention to the screen once again. Isabel, relieved of the attention, decided to relax and listen as that pathetic old lawyer droned on about the nomination for the next batch of Elite Seven students.

She rested her chin on her intertwined fingers. A smile crept on Isabel's lips as she listened intently, thinking of the perfect attack seventeen moves away from checkmate.

Her lips were almost as red as blood.

* * *

_Amsterdam, Netherlands  
Unidentified hiking grounds  
8: 32 am_

"We're going to beat the record! Come on, Holts! _Faster_!"

It was a Sunday morning, and Hamilton Holt never felt as tired. And annoyed, because of his sisters who periodically turned around to tell him that he was such a slugger. And tired, which was a reason why he didn't feel as enthusiastic as his family about beating the record. As a bottom line, he was tired.

No. Take that back. Holts _never_ get tired. Eisenhower himself had said so.

But…on second thought…

Hamilton stared up at the sky, closed his eyes, and exhaustedly puffed out a breath from his pink cheeks to blow the blond hair away from his face.

…maybe they do.

Hamilton forced himself out of his trance and trudged along the rocky pathways of the steep, rocky mountain. He was dripping with sweat, and each time he used the back of his hand to wipe his face off, he looked even messier with dirt. Big hands clutching at his ten-ton backpack of gigantic proportions, he forced himself to lift up his foot and step atop a boulder. But he slipped, and he stumbled backwards.

"Hurry up, slugger!" yelled Madison (or was it Reagan?) from above.

"Come _on!_ " shouted Reagan with urgency (or was it Madison?) after her twin sister. "We're so close to the top!"

Hamilton tried to lift himself up again on the boulder using his foot, this time with the help of his hands. But, just as he was starting to succeed, he again fell back, just like the first time, but this time he ended up with a smash against the ground. He quickly stood up, though, not wanting his watching family from above to bask in the embarrassment of his mortification any longer, and instead of spending the effort to step atop the said boulder, he turned the other, easier way around where no muscular strength is required, in a rocky pathway that only required him to walk.

"What?" Eisenhower bellowed after having seen his seventeen-year-old son refuse the challenge at hand. _Since when did Holts take it the easy way?_

It was hard for Hamilton to look directly into his strict father's eyes, especially if those eyes were a cold, frosty blue. Everyone in the family had noticed the elder son's physical limits slowly degrading to loser point; and they all knew why. There was a reason behind the bags under his eyes, the triathlon trophies on his shelf replaced with textbooks, and the neglect in family exercise. Thankfully everyone understood him; except a boneheaded one. His father wouldn't just understand him, although right now Hamilton was too annoyed of his sisters and tired of his puffing body to care.

And sleepy. He yawned unintentionally loudly as he walked past his father, who was following him with a glare. Last night, a Saturday, Hamilton had fallen asleep reading a lesson on the coding process of creating a software, atop the open lectures and notebooks scattered across his desk. He guessed it was about three in the morning when he drowsed off after his painstaking study routine of memorizing various computer terminology and functional codes, and, with his cranky mind, he was definitely _not_ happy having been woken up one hour later with his father's banging voice all over their house for their morning exercise.

But that wasn't Hamilton's current concern. It was something else, entirely. Last month, when it was still in the middle of summer vacation, he decided to take an entrance exam in Cahill University. But ever since then, he hadn't been hearing any results, even if the brochure promised a text and a mail, both electronic and not. The problem was, tomorrow was the first day of school, and he didn't even know if he passed the standards of being an Elite Seven.

But he _had_ to. He must. He'd been studying his head off the whole two months of vacation, and he'd really been hoping that everything else he'd done and sacrificed (like disappointing his Dad) would pay off. It wasn't a fair treatment that his parents had to praise both Reagan and Madison for being the 'real' Tomases that they were, all the while casting him out—well, _they_ weren't doing their best to enter the Elite Seven, but his parents didn't even seem to acknowledge Hamilton for all his hard work! All he really wanted was to be one of the school's top seven students, be an Elite, and prove to his parents that...no, he wasn't a Dolt. His sisters weren't, either.

 _If I graduate as a valedictorian this year,_ he thought, _I'd earn Dad's attention again._

_All that I have to do is study hard._

Suddenly, something vibrated in his pocket, and his sleepy nerves suddenly awakened with a jolt. He excitedly fished his phone out, and found a text message. _Congratulations!_ it said. He scanned his excited eyes over the phone's small screen, and he hadn't even noticed that he was teetering over the edge as he read every word, the smile on his face growing to that of pure, giddy happiness.

_The entrance exam you took for the 4th years as a requirement to enroll in Cahill University had been excellent. Your given grade was_ _ 95.024 _ _. As a result,_ _Hamilton Holt_ _(Course:_ _ Tomas _ _), you are chosen to be one of the Elite Seven and have the chance to graduate as an immediate_ _ Tomas _ _agent, and obtain of the many opportunities and privileges that the university will grant you along with this._

_We expect your presence at the Cahill Manor tomorrow, Monday, at precisely 7:00 am. I myself will be there to greet the new ES batch with my personal congratulations._

_Signed,  
Grace Cahill  
University President_

After reading the message, he was bouncing so fast ahead of his family that _they_ had to tell him to slow down.

Nope, Hamilton Holt wasn't such a slugger after all.

* * *

_Wexford, Republic of Ireland  
Wexford Airport  
5: 22 pm_

"Is there a reason you visited the Irish tonight?"

"Are you and Phoenix in a relationship? Like, seriously?"

"Is the rumor true about you having prostate cancer?"

"Your haters think you've been taking drugs these past two months! Where were you during the summer vibe?"

"Did you know that the fans have missed you so much?" a reporter asked, trying to get his CNN mike reach over to the superstar. "You haven't had any songs for the longest time, no movies, no concerts, and no news—it's like the world was deserted without your music!"

Jonah Wizard, multi-platinum music artist, pretended to be overwhelmed and shocked by the CNN reporter's question.

The most famous black American in the entire history of the planet (after Barack Obama, of course, but the pres dude doesn't sing and dance and hip and hop as good as The Wiz does) smiled his most flashy smile to the said CNN reporter, causing the heat of the masses of bodies around him seem even hotter as a cheer and squeal and shout of thirteen-year-old girls vibrated through the orange night light of the airwaves. Of all the questions fired at him, the CNN reporter's was the most decent, so far.

"My Irish fans' awesome love is deffo _off_ the chain, yo!" he exclaimed, putting a hand over his chest as he waved the other over at the crowd. Cameras flashed and flashed, taking pictures of the Wiz at different ritzy angles. He smiled at each one of them, filling the air with laughter as he tried to answer the other absurd questions he'd heard earlier. Smooth as you groove. The media was struggling to get closer contact with the singer, but Jonah's guards kept the celebrity at bay.

"Jo-nah! Jo-nah! Jo-nah!" screamed the girls holding up a banner of the superstar, the silver and golden bling around his ever so glitzily body almost blinding the eyes of anyone who'd take a glance.

Showbiz. A wrinkled frown slowly crept into Jonah's large king-worthy smile, which almost literally shone in the orange lights of the entire United States' television media zeroing in on his world famous face. So, he was gone for two months, and when he comes back to his awesome world of awesome fans, he was greeted with—what?—people telling him disgusting rumors. Like he had prostitutional cancer, or he was taking on illegal drugs. (Uh, prostitutional?) And (whoa) did that dude just say he and Phoenix were in a relationship?

Can't a world-famous star sit in a chair for once in a while and study his lessons for a bit?

People.

"Kiss me, Jonah!" said a random girl, who was being dragged away by the police from smashing her exaggeratedly puckered cherry red lips into his. His smile froze at the sight of this, disgust slowly churning up in his stomach, but he tried, like the actor he was, to prevent him from tainting his face with a sour flavour.

Paparazzi just won't give him the privacy.

"Jonah," Broderick's voice suddenly reached Jonah's ears, and the son looked up to meet his father's brown, apprehended eyes. "Are you _sure_ you don't want me to hire you a tutor instead?" His fingers were poised to type into his Blackberry anytime. "Entering a school could destroy your sched—"

"Chill, Dad," Jonah said. Then, in a quieter tone, "I know you could just hire a Janus tutor, but, come on, I haven't experienced school since I was fourth grade. I want to know what high school feels like. I'm sure I can juggle school and celebrity life just fine." Then, he held up his phone discreetly to his dad, showing him a _Congratulations!_ message.

"First day of school." Jonah smirked as he drew back his phone to him, feeling the excitement of meeting new classmates shine in his eyes. "Y'know what that means. Gotta bounce early tomorrow morning, Dad."

* * *

_Wexford, Republic of Ireland  
_ _A cheap rental house  
_ _10: 56 pm_

"Good show there, mah homies!" the familiar-to-everyone singing voice blared across the living room. "Awesome banner over there, girls! Oh, and take it easy there, babe. 'Preciate the love, but I really don't take random kisses from really hot girls like ya. Man, you're too cute. Even dis gansgta doesn't deserve your cuteness."

_Even dis gangsta doesn't deserve your cuteness._

She plugged off the television's socket from the waterproof, fireproof, electric-accidents-proof, and synthetic vinyl plastic and energy-conserving outlet. She was completely sick of the superstar's—er, the more appropriate word would be jerkstar—sick modesty.

'Even this—' _What's the word?_ Brag _sta?_ —' _gangsta_ doesn't deserve your cuteness.' That was what Jonah Wizard said.

 _What a flirtbag_.

Sinead Starling slowly got up from the cheap couch, holding her self-made and specially personalized eco-phone in one callused hand. No text message from her brothers. Oh well, it's probably midnight in Tel Aviv right now. They were actually having their medications there.

Nowadays, she was often tired. She rarely got out of her scientific laboratorial lair, which her generous uncle Alistair Oh had so munificently offered for her back when she was nine years old—the work she does there for one day was enough for Natalie Kabra's dainty little hand to be as callused as hers. And yet Sinead had worked there for years, who would have thought, and she was always busy working with scientific projects. Often she had a new project even if the current one is still a mile away from getting finished.

Being busy made her happy. Yet, to her mild distaste, her overly analytical brain couldn't seem to endure long hours of work, often suggesting Sinead some rest from time to time. But whenever she _did_ obey the commands of her brain to sit on the couch for once in a while to rest, what does she get?

Frustration. Every time her brain gets tired, it would always— _always_ , and without fail—be on 10 pm, the same time slot for the reality TV show "Follow That Gangsta". She doesn't know if it was a joke, or if it was done on purpose that every single time she turns the dreaded box of electricity to life she would have to see Jonah Wizard's totally annoying ego glowing like radiation, but she was seriously getting sick of his arrogance. And what kind of a rational and intelligent girl like her wouldn't be?

Now then. Sinead carefully massaged her temples. Setting down her empty glass of water on the table, she got ready to sleep. After a three-minute shower, she headed for bed, and, lying down, she turned up the volume of her cellphone's radio, hoping for a deep sleep tuned from good music.

 _Frustration_. She felt it again. She was immediately disgusted at what her ears heard from her ear buds. It had to be her ears' natural instinct to send nerve impulses to her brain from her trained cochlear nerve to pull her earplugs out of her ears. Jonah Wizard's 'Gangstas Have Feelings, Too' song immediately stopped playing, and to her utter relief. Annoyed, she immediately turned her phone off and decided to sleep peacefully without the loud and rowdy vociferous bragsta—sorry, _gangsta_ —music infiltrating through her dreams.

She had school to attend to tomorrow, anyway.

* * *

_Wexford, Republic of Ireland  
_ _Kabra Mansion (Irish area)  
_ _5: 58 am_

The birds were singing, the sun was shining, and the tea was refreshing. Yes. Nothing could be more refreshing than a refreshing start.

But then, the door was suddenly blasted into pieces (or at least it sounded as if it had) when a flash of long dark hair flew over to the room, barging through the white mahogany door.

" _IAN!"_ Natalie Kabra was shouting to the top of her little fifteen-year-old lungs, and in no time at all she was right there, in front of him, pounding her hand onto the delicate glass of the expensive tea table. "There simply is _no_ other thing worse than my current dilemma. I cannot find my red Marcello sunhat anywhere!"

Ian closed his eyes. Patience. He subconsciously put the fragile little teacup onto the saucer with a _clink_. No, he should never let anything deter his good mood. He opened his eyes once again, this time, with a forced half-smile.

"I'm sure you've heard of a quaint, non-disturbing custom called knocking?"

Natalie smiled a sweet smile.

"Oh, how nice of you to greet your fabulous little sister, brother dear," she started with a fake, lovely-little-sister voice, until it turned as ominous as the thunders in the heavens. "Shut the formality. I _meant_ to knock, but, good grief, Ian Kabra, are you not a top Lucian student—brought up in Britain, oh _Gideon_ —in the Elite Seven? As you may have not noticed, we are running _late_ , and if you think my Gucci sunglasses can help us acquire a good first impression in front of the University Principal, then you are most definitely incorrect."

Ian looked away from the floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooking a flower garden to calmly turn to his sister. He did not understand the majority of what she had just said, but he partly understood that she thought they were running late.

"Sister dear, it's barely seven o'clock."

" _My Marcello sunhat!"_

Ian released an exhausted sigh. "And how, pray tell, is your… _lovely_ Marcello sunhat related to your self-proclaimed _tardiness?_ "

Natalie pouted, face gleaming red with impatience. "The shade of red of that sunhat is _perfect_! It absolutely blends in with our Elite uniform as Lucian students, and if I can't find it—"

A new voice interrupted, after the opening of a door. "Master Ian, Madame Natalie—"

Natalie whirled around to the interrupting butler. She wasn't quite fond of being cut off when saying something.

"Insolent butler!" Shrill voice. Ian had to cringe at that. The younger Kabra put an accusing finger over the reprimanded butler's chest, looking like the younger version of Isabel Kabra herself. "Haven't you heard of a quaint custom called _knocking_?"

The frightened butler flushed.

Ian smirked in the background as he watched his personal butler, Bickerduff, take a quivering step back, obviously fearing the words that every maid in every Kabra mansion feared: _You're. Fired_. And the girl who fired more than twenty maids in less than a month was none other than Natalie Kabra. Of course, this might be an exaggeration, but exaggeration for the Kabras is never far from the truth.

"Madame Natalie," the old man's accented voice was shaking. "I deeply apologize—"

" _Nonsense!_ " the British brunette put a delicate hand on her waist, using her other to wave him out. "You are most definitely _f_ —"

"Don't fire him, Natalie," Ian interjected, having had enough of a loud morning. "What is it you've come here for, Bickerduff?"

The butler in black tailcoats actually smiled a relieved smile, walking past Natalie and to his real master with two red boxes in his hands. Bickerduff was _Ian's_ personal butler, not Natalie's, and the old butler took more of a fancy in tending to his more mature master than his younger, whiny sister. "These came onto our doorstep this morning, one for the young master, and one for the young madam." He placed the elegantly decorated boxes onto the tea table in front of Ian. "I wish you a pleasant morning. If you excuse me."

The Kabra siblings waited until the butler was out of the tea room.

The two boxes were a bright, saturated red, and, along with the Cahill University's logo, they were also stamped with a seal. The Lucian seal, with a two-headed snake entwining around a sword, both the symbols of cold-blooded cunningness and incisive intelligence. Ian opened the box which had his name on it, as Natalie grumpily did the same for hers. Reading the tag that came along with it, he said, "Our Elite uniforms have arrived." He took a glance on his watch. "And precisely on time. Also, simmer down, Natalie. Panic does not help us maintain our Elite-worthy grades."

Natalie slumped down into a plush velvet chair across Ian's on the table, massaging her temples with perfect French-manicured fingers.

"If only Mum doesn't demand too much of us. First day of school, and my nerves have never been as frazzled. How else can we survive one, entire, academic year—in _Ireland_?" She dramatically shuddered, like she was thinking of a nightmare. "The shopping stores here are horrid."

Ian raised an amused eyebrow. "Even more horrid than that in the Americas?"

That gave Natalie a blink of her eyes and some thoughtful pause.

"Well…I guess they have Marcello stores here."


	2. Monday, Before 7:00 AM

**CAHILL UNIVERSITY  
since 1739**

**"Scoil amh** **áin, teaghlach amh** **á** **in."**

"One school, one family."

_The entrance exam you took for the [__ _] years as a requirement to enrol in Cahill University had been excellent. Your given grade was __ _. As a result,_ _ [insert name] _ _, (Course:_ _[ insert Cahill branch]_ _), you are chosen to be one of the Elite Seven and have the chance to graduate as an immediate_ _[insert Cahill branch]_ _agent, obtaining of the many opportunities and privileges that the university will grant you along with this._

_We expect your presence at the Cahill Manor tomorrow, Monday, at precisely 7:00 am. I myself will be there to greet the new ES batch with my personal congratulations._

_Signed,  
Grace Cahill  
University President_

* * *

II. Monday, Before 7:00 AM

* * *

He was used to wearing cheap, cotton t-shirts bought from a humble nearby garage sale or even donning wickedly awesome ninja attires while wielding an equally wickedly awesome samurai sword.

But he was definitely _not_ used to the boring, scratchy, and boring formal attire his older nerdy sister Amy the Bookworm Dork had just forced him to wear.

" _Ugh_." Dan Cahill disgustedly pulled at his shirt collar, hoping to relieve himself of the itchiness that it so inconveniently provided on the skin of his neck, which grew moister and moister by the minute with bothersome perspiration. He wore a pristine white polo shirt made of silk, he practically _shone_ with said clothing's whiteness, (at least that was what he thought), and patterns of small, barely visible letters were imprinted on the delicate fabric—ES, which stood for Elite Seven. He wore a tie (it was what annoyed him the most, seriously, he felt like he was being practically strangled) and it was just as ebony black as his trousers, which smoothly flowed down his legs. Wearing these made him feel hot, and sticky. Amy could say it a million times, but he didn't _care_ about how expensive these uniforms were. He could never understand it why rich people liked to throw all their precious money away for these incredibly impractical and uncomfortable clothes.

Because what if they suddenly got attacked by a fleet of evil ninjas? Somebody's gotta be _seriously_ prepared to kick those villains' butts—someone with complete actual ninja gear! Yes, of course, he had the skillz, but still, he had to be equipped. Shurikens, sais, throwing knives, samurai swords, shurikens, rope darts, war fans, combat lassos, hand blades, shurikens— _sheer awesomeness_ , now we're talking.

He felt pathetic wearing a stupid, itchy, annoying _necktie_. (Well, come to think of it, why _do_ people wear neckties in the first place? Huh? Huh?)

But apparently his sister didn't catch the awesomeness of his practicality. Both Amy and Nellie had gushed endlessly back at their apartment when he threw these uncomfortable doodads on, the girls telling him that he was 'so elegant' or 'had matured' or that 'he looked like a grown kiddo'. Honestly, he didn't care how 'elegant' he might have looked like; he just wanted these extremely uncomfortable clothes _off_.

"I just _haaate_ our uniforms," he slowly whined aloud, like a labouring mother about to give birth to a child. "Because we look like we're going to a funeral! And look at me! I look less awesome than normal!" He irritably pulled at his tie. "I'm _seriously_ going to take these off n— _ow!_ " His hand immediately flew over to his head as he whirled around to face his annoyed-looking sister, who had just hit him with a book. "What?!"

Lines of irritation were apparent on Amy's petite face. Her hand still held the book with which she had just hit him with, and, for a second, Dan wondered if time had just stopped. But then, before he knew it, Amy sighed a sigh of surrender, throwing her hands up in the air exasperatedly.

"Nellie!" Amy called out to the person on the front who drove their humble little car. "Would you _please_ tell Dan the _importance_ of wearing uniforms for the _millionth time?_ "

Their beloved au pair, hired by their grandmother Grace a year ago, turned her mascara-rimmed eyes to the rear-view mirror to stare at the Cahill siblings. Her bangs, coloured a flashy orange, clashed with her blue false eyelashes that were practically a mile long. It appeared as if she was chewing something, and Dan observed a shrimp's orange tail sticking out her mouth like a lollipop stick.

The sight made Dan blink.

Wait a minute.

She was having breakfast in the _car?_

Nellie gulped down what she was eating first before she spoke like a preaching priest. "Dan, I know you're awesome, and awesome people don't wear unawesome clothes, but as the babysitter of awesomeness—"

" _Au pair_ ," Amy interjected.

"—it is my obligation to constantly remind you that those uniforms are mandatory as a member of that über elite class of yours. Therefore—"

"Hey!" Dan cried, pointing a finger of accusation at his au pair. He had just gathered the required brainpower to comprehend the fact that Nellie was just eating something, and in the _car_ , no less, which was initially forbidden by sisterus dorkus and seconded by the punk-haired au pair. He lunged himself at the front seat, reaching for whatever Nellie had been eating. "I thought there's a rule! 'No eating in the car'!"

"What th—Dan! Get off!" The punk-haired Gomez girl tried to protect the little lunch box she'd been hiding under her arms, whose existence was now just discovered by Dan; therefore commencing a battle for sautéed butter shrimps.

Dan had left the house without even having breakfast because he had refused Amy's calls of waking up early, as was the consequence of his sleeping late playing videogames at night—but still. He thought it unfair that Nellie, even if _she_ woke up late, was _allowed_ to eat breakfast, while _he_ wasn't.

"Dan!" shrieked Nellie, all the while trying to drive the car and protect her lunch box from said dangerously unstable carnivore. "Seriously! This is Sammy's food!"

"But _you_ were eating it!" the aggressive, hungry Cahill countered.

"No!" she snapped. "I have a _separate_ lunch box for—"

"You were EATING Sammy's lunch!" he fired back.

"I was not!"

"You were too!"

"Was NOT!"

"Were TOO!"

"WAS _NOT!"_

"Okay, okay, from now on eating is allowed—just—just no shrimp wars in the car! Effective immediately—" Amy, though, had to duck if she didn't want to get hit in the face by a hurled butter shrimp. When none of them refused to listen to her unheard demands, the girl only slapped her face with her book, the two battling parties battling against each other. "Oh, Dan, you dweeb, _please_ , we're running _late_ , so if you _just_ behave for two minutes more—"

"Wait a sec, did someone just say _late_?" Nellie called out, with a sudden enthusiasm that suddenly struck fear in Amy's eyes—a scary enthusiasm that made even Dan pause. Amy and Dan observed with widening eyes as Nellie tightened her grasp on the steering wheel, a frightening iron grip that made the two of them suddenly nervous.

Nellie only grinned. "Well, since I can't have my kiddos getting late on the first day of school, get ready to fly."

The Cahill siblings exchanged fearful glances. And, only through looking at each other, they perfectly understood what the horror etched on each other's eyes meant.

_Fly?_

"Wait a sec—"

"Nellie—"

But, just before they could stop the legendary Nellie Gomez, the engine revved up, and off they went—extracting from Dan a rather feminine scream, and from Amy a cry of overthrown panic—sautéed butter shrimps long forgotten.

And fly they did.

* * *

"Ah, nothing like a good drive!" Nellie all too happily stretched her arms in the air like she hadn't just almost gotten themselves mauled over by a gigantic truck one and a half kilometres back. "We're here!"

Dan held his throat and put a hand over his mouth, his head spinning with absolute nausea. "Remind me to—" he burped, the pale colour of his face morphing into a sickly green— "bring some barf bags tomorrow." Then, suddenly, his pupils dilated, and for a second there he seriously looked like he was going to hurl—

"Not in the car, you dweeb!" his older sister scolded. She quickly opened the door on her side of the car and pulled Dan out, who still had his throat grasped by his fingers, probably one of his futile attempts of trying to push down the rising puke. Amy was suffering under the same curse of carsickness herself, but they had to pull themselves together if they didn't want the inconvenience of having the car smelling like puke for a several days.

"Awesome…ninja…needs…" Dan's eyes suddenly bulged out, looking like he was going to officially throw up at that moment, but, thankfully, he managed to gulp down that bout of vomit. "Needs…toilet…" Burp. "… _bowl_ …"

"That's what you get for waking up late!" Amy fought the desperate urge to smack the back of her brother's head with a book for good measure. "Tomorrow, you're waking up at four am in peace. Either that, or it's the bucket of ice."

" _Four_ am?!" he hollered. "Does that even exist?"

"Kyaa!" someone suddenly shouted from the grand gates of the prestigious Cahill University, and both Amy and Dan, who had just gotten out of their humble little car, averted their gazes to a number of regular students who had suddenly gathered and formed a crowd to surround them in a semi-circle.

"Good morning!"

"We've been waiting for you to arrive!"

"Can we take a picture with you?"

"Oh. Em. Gee. Look at their uniforms! They're sooo cool!"

"Aw, I wish my grades could be like theirs!"

"How do they even get to _maintain_ grades so high?"

Dan and Amy awkwardly took a step backwards from the advancing crowd, who shrieked their names like they were celebrities.

 _Here they go again_.

Just like last year, when they had first managed to enter the Elite Seven and represent their respective Cahill branch, all the other regular Madrigal students had been so tremendously happy for them that they would greet the siblings of honour like they were royals whenever they took a step in the renowned university. Amy understood the unspoken fact that the Madrigal branch was considered inferior to all the cunning Lucians, the artistic Januses, the inventive Ekaterinas, and the athletic Tomases, because the Madrigals had no representatives to offer to the elegant Elite Seven for a vast number years, so she knew that she and Dan were the Madrigals' pride once they managed to get grades high enough that put them in their respective ranks in the Elite Seven. Amy and Dan were the ones who proved to everyone else that the Madrigals can, after all, be members of the prestigious Elite Seven. They were practically the reasons why the Madrigals scored statistically higher in the quarterly exams for the last two years ever since, because they stopped pitying themselves and started to build self-confidence, believing that they can actually be at par with the other branches all along.

But what Amy didn't understand was why her fellow Madrigals had to greet them like this every morning. It was as if they were world-class Hollywood stars even deserving of their attention, when what Amy believed was actually quite the opposite—she knew she was an Elite, but so what? The answer, she didn't know. Each student practically had their eyes shining with admiration, looking up at both of the Cahill siblings like they were stars in the sky—it was apparent that they admired them so much, with all the looks of amazement they were giving them. The sight could only make Amy sweat-drop.

"G-guys…" Amy was obviously getting a bit uncomfortable at a scene like this. "I thought I told you, you d-don't need to! Just—greet us _normally_ in the morning—"

"Madrigals! Order!" someone with a militaristic voice suddenly announced from the back of the crowd to interrupt her, and, not three seconds after, the gathered Madrigal students ran to their respective places as they assembled in two, neat, army-worthy vertical lines to make way for their VIPs. Then, bowing their heads in frightening synchronization, they all said, with a voice one and proud, "Good morning, Amy and Dan!"

It was a sight that made Amy feel awfully awkward.

"Umm…I said _normally_ , but…" Amy's tongue felt tied. She may be one of the reasons that the Madrigals had their self-confidence boosted, but she unfortunately she didn't have that herself. After all this time, she may have been popular and often stood out, but she was still as socially awkward as the socially awkward bookworm that she normally was all the way back. "Yeah…hello guys…good morning…"

"Morning, everyone!" Dan, though, unlike his sister, apparently liked all the attention he was getting. He seemed to have already recovered from his severe case of carsickness and was taking the time to enjoy the moment. He returned his fellow Madrigals' love and appreciation by shaking hands, clapping shoulders, and acting familiarly with all his fellow students. "Hey, how you doing? Nice cap you have there. Everyone having a good time? I'm a fan of ninjas too! Haha YES, the star player had _just_ arrived."

Amy could just roll her eyes at this. They haven't even yet entered the school grounds itself, but all this ridiculous hullaballoo was already happening. She whirled her head around to face Nellie, who was still in her car.

"I never thought that the Madrigals would prepare a spectacle like this," she whispered at her, leaning her head into the car through the open window. "And for _us_ , no less! Two years ago, we barely even attracted the attention of a fly. Dan, yes, maybe, because he didn't like hygiene, but you know what I mean."

"Well, what can you say?" The au pair only shrugged her slim shoulders as she casually rested an arm on the steering wheel. "You two're the first Elite Madrigals the university's ever seen in twenty years. Of course you'd be popular."

"I know…but still." Being the humble girl Amy was, she didn't really particularly like all the extra, unnecessary attention they were getting. She could already see it—everyday, for the rest of the school year, whenever she and Dan arrived at the gates in Nellie's car, the Madrigals would all be lined up for them like palace court guards. They may be Elites, but she didn't like all the overdone recognition. "Because we're all just the same students."

"Yes, but the Elite Seven is separated from the regular students for a reason—you'll always stand out, like it or not." Nellie pointed with her chin at Dan and the regular Madrigal students that surrounded him, who endlessly fussed over him like he was their prince. "For an apparent example, your uniforms," Nellie provided. "See any difference?"

Amy looked, even if she knew what she'd already see. Of course Nellie's right, they'd always stand out, even their bare uniforms screamed out that much. That was the very reason why her eyes had immediately landed on Dan when she turned her head to look at the crowd—her brother was the only one of the boys who wore an immaculate white top and jet black trousers, because the rest of them wore their plain brown uniforms, both top and pants, with their black neckties hanging from their necks, the colour being the one indicator that they were Madrigal students indeed. It was the same situation with the girls: while Amy wore a pure, white silken blouse, a black tie, and a flowing black pleated skirt that reached down several inches below her knees, the other female students only wore a plain attire that lacked the elegance of the Elites'. Their uniforms' colour scheme was only an ordinary brown, as was the custom for the regular, ordinary students.

As she was thinking these thoughts, a small group of girls—there were three of them, who, looking at their young features and their petite heights, appeared like they were still in their first years—came before her shyly, twiddling and fidgeting. This made Amy blink down at them, more than once in astonishment. Usually it was _her_ who did the role of being the shy girl; that was probably why it felt a little unusual, like she was looking at the younger clones of her own self as she looked at the girls.

"Good morning…?" Amy started, curious of their purpose.

"Um…excuse me…can we take a picture of us with you?" one of them modestly asked, her youthful eyes shining brightly with innocent hope. She held a phone in her one hand, and she was holding it out expectantly towards Amy. "Because, um, you see, there's a new fad spreading around the school, and they say that if you take a picture of an Elite with you, your grades will immediately go up!"

"What?" Amy said, blinking. School barely even started, but a rumour like this was already becoming some sort of a popular business? She looked back at Nellie for help, but the girl in the car only shrugged. Amy turned her attention back to the little girls. "No, no, I really shouldn't, I—"

"Aw, pretty please?" another one of the girl's friends squealed. "Because you're our role model, Miss Amy!"

"Th-That's right!" responded the one in the middle, who spoke for the first time. "Y-You're really my inspiration, Miss Amy Cahill! Um…it's because I…I never imagined that a Madrigal could _ever_ be part of the Elite Seven, b-b-but ever since _you_ and your brother did, I…I started hoping that m-maybe I have a…a chance, maybe?"

"As if!" her friend said, nudging her jokingly. "You can barely even get into _our_ class' top ten students! What more can you do in the Elite Seven!"

"Aw, but s-still…"

All too suddenly, Nellie laughed from the background. All four girls veered their heads around to look at the source of interruption. "Well," she started, looking at Amy, "since I see you don't need your good ol' babysitter now—"

"AU PAIR!" screamed an apparently embarrassed Dan from the background, earning him a cacophonous chorus of 'You have a _babysitter?!_ ' from his shocked fans.

"—I guess this is where I should leave you, Amy, ma' kiddo." Nellie could only roll her eyes at Dan's sudden overreaction. "I'm gonna be late in my culinary class if I don't get there in five. Ireland's Le Roux has pretty strict chefs, I hear," she said, grasping on the steering wheel, getting ready for one mighty hurricane of a ride. Amy could only shudder as she thought of this, almost as if she heard hers and Dan's screams just from this morning all over again, like an overplayed cassette.

"Try not to s… _somersault_ your car into the air this time, okay, Nellie?"

Nellie pulled off a wicked grin, which Amy decided that she should be scared of. Despite the unpromising gesture, though, the au pair gave her a reassuring thumbs-up, stepped on the gas pedal, and stormed off while leaving clouds of dust in her wake. And as she did, Amy could hear her saying, as a last minute reminder: "And don't forget to bring Sammy the lunch I made him!"

His lunch box was already inside Amy's backpack, actually. Amy smiled. "Okay, I won't!"

Nellie suddenly stuck out her head from the window to look back at her. " _And get it away from Dan!_ "

Amy frowned. "Get your head inside the car!"

Nellie did, and officially zoomed off with a laugh. "'Kay, alright, _boss_ , geez! Later!"

Now that her little conversation with Nellie was done, she turned her attention back to the first-year girls, who were still staring up at her with eyes shining like stars.

Amy kneeled down in front of them and patted her head, that one particular girl who said that she was 'her inspiration'. It made Amy feel a little more worthy—it was a fulfilling sensation that fuzzed in her a warmth that spread throughout her entire body and practically made her glow.

"Um, what's your name again?"

The girl was surprised to have just been asked of her name by an Elite member, from the campus-wide famous Amy Hope Cahill herself. She blinked for several moments, her tongue having suddenly malfunctioned, refusing to form the words she wanted to say. But, Amy only patiently waited, looking at her encouragingly, because she knew _exactly_ how it felt like to be nervous. She had, after all, gone through that very same difficulty in childhood, and is still actually going through in adolescence.

Eventually, the girl managed to utter a sound.

"Um…m-my name's…N-Niña. Niña Montel."

"Well then, Niña Montel," Amy said, smiling. "You should know that becoming an Elite doesn't depend on the fact whether you have a picture of me or Dan or not. So I'm not going to give you a picture of myself." At this statement, the girls' faces dropped in disappointment. Amy, though, with a determined smile on her face, landed a firm hand onto Niña's shoulder. "It's not the picture. It's the time that _you_ put in improving _your_ self."

Amy's determination seemed to have been infectious. The girls' faces immediately brightened at those words, most especially Niña.

"Th-Thanks so much for the advice, Miss Amy!"

The female Madrigal pulled herself up from her kneeling position and stood up straight. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go to your classrooms now!" She clapped them on their backs with a heartening enthusiasm. "Study hard!"

"We will!" the girls shouted after her, who immediately took off upon Amy's encouragement. Amy stood where she was, watching as the three first year students cheerily squealed to themselves, especially at Niña, who they profusely gushed over for having been given an advice from Amy Cahill herself.

"Girls, seriously!" Amy heard Niña hiss to her friends, though with a hidden laugh in her tone. "She's watching us!"

Amy could only shake her head at this, a smile playing on her face as she watched them off, the happy sight of them running and laughing together causing a wisp of nostalgia stir up from within her. Well. Friends would be friends.

Amy's eyes suddenly darkened as she thought of that. Her mind tuned out of the real world as the sound of laughing reached her ears, echoing like a faded picture coming back into life—a distant memory clouding her green eyes.

Friends…

" _Wow! That's seriously amazing!" Amy clapped her hands as her best friend finished filling up the entire blackboard with mathematical equations about the existence of dark matter in space. Her best friend was a year older than her, but she was barely fourteen, and it was an overwhelming fact that someone as young could know about such complicated things. Amy herself didn't understand most of what she'd just said, and she knew that it might all be just gibberish, but the way she had so excitedly explained to her every little convoluted detail made it impossible that her friend was just making all those science-y facts up._

_Well. Amy guessed that it was what someone should expect from the intelligent daughter of NASA's top aerospace engineers, David and Melinda Starling, themselves._

" _I know, right?" said Sinead, who grabbed an eraser and started to wipe off the chalk of all her hard work from the blackboard. "I'll teach you how to do the same thing!"_

" _What?" Amy's instincts were immediately protesting. Nononononono. She was_ terrible _at math. She couldn't possibly match Sinead's skills! She'd just embarrass herself if she even_ attempted _to touch that piece of chalk that Sinead was offering her right now; it's better not to try at all! "But, Sinead, you know I can't—"_

" _Yes, you can." The older girl smiled at her younger friend. Having the mind of a scientist taught the young Starling one thing, and Sinead intended on sharing that same little wisdom with Amy as her best friend._

" _You'd only achieve something great if you work hard for it."_

Amy blinked at the memory. She shook her head, trying to get rid of it—what was _that_ all about, all of a sudden? _Oh, come on, Amy, pull yourself together. This is not the place to be thinking about_ that _…this is not the place._ She heaved a shaky breath, let it out to calm herself, closing her eyes to block out the negative sensations. Renewed, Amy opened her eyes again. Now. Returning to the real world. Where was she, again? Ah, yes.

" _Dan!"_ she hollered, and she suddenly transformed from a girl lost in nostalgia to a bouncing ball of rage as she stomped towards her brother, who was posing in front of the camera with several girls making wacky faces for the sake of something to post in Facebook. Amy yanked her brother's arm from the girls' grip, and Dan was like 'Hey, Amy, what are you—?!' as the girls whined their squeals of protest. But Amy could only announce to the crowd for all of them to disperse already; because the university bell is sure to ring any time now. Some people persisted that they wanted to get a photo with Dan, and since Amy could not control such a vast amount of people rallying against her, she could only surrender to what they wanted, telling them that they could take pictures of Dan _later_. Several of the girls dropped their heads in disappointment at this; because, apparently, Dan had made them all line up for this taking-a-picture-with-an-Elite fad, only to have their hopes crushed in the end.

"You shouldn't be encouraging them, Dan," Amy hissed to her brother's ear as she walked past the grandeur of the enormous iron wrought gates of Cahill University, which were opened wide to accept its continuously approaching students, who couldn't help but stare in amazement at the two, who stood out because of their Elite status. Amy barely took notice of the gigantic statues that stood in line in all their splendour, as if they were palace court guards themselves, all built in honour of Gideon, Olivia, and their children, Luke, Jane, Tomas, Katherine, and Madeleine. All of the statues seemed to particularly follow their direct descendants, Amy and Dan, as they walked past them obliviously, at least while Amy scolded Dan about the taking of pictures.

"And, seriously, next time, refuse them, Dan. Yes, no matter how persistent they are. Encourage them in actually doing something _useful_ , not taking pictures of a dweeb like _you_ —and, no, don't tell me you're an awesome ninja. Do you want that head of yours to grow big like a balloon and eventually explode?"

Dan made a face. "Ack, that's like the grossest imagery I've ever heard my entire life. It's cool."

He's not getting the point.

" _Dan_ ," Amy breathed out in exasperation, through the gaps made by her fingers after having slapped her face with a hand, "we're all the _same_ students. We don't need that special treatment, okay? We're getting enough privileges with our Elite status. We don't need any more fame than that. Now, come on, we should go to the Cahill Manor now. Grace is probably already waiting for us there."

"No, wait, don't you want to see our class ranks first?" Dan suggested, enthusiasm refreshed. "Because they just posted the lists over there!"

Dan was pointing a finger at the man who had just finished sticking up the last piece of paper on the official bulletin board of Cahill University, where a massive number of students had started to gather round, murmuring to themselves their enthusiasm or disappointment as they found their names on the lists and figured out what class they belonged to for this school year. Girls squealed when they found out that they were still going be the same classmates, boys fist-bumped or shuffled each other's hair in glee. The other students who were scattered around the campus started running past the Cahill siblings towards the bulletin board as well, also eager to find out how good they've done in the entrance exams themselves.

Amy practically shone, as she shared in all the other students' excitement. She grasped Dan's arm and said, "Then let's go over and see!"

"Amy, _ew_!" Dan tried to pull his arm away from his sister, but it can't be helped. "I'm _not_ a _baby_ anymore!"

"Oh, shut up, dweeb," Amy replied good-naturedly with a smile on her face as she led him towards the bulletin board. They had to run over the green grass before they reached it. It had massive dimensions, the bulleting board, perhaps it stretched for ten long metres, because posted on it were a series of papers where the list of all Cahill University's students were printed on them. As Amy neared, she walked past the section where the first years' grades and sections were posted, separated into Classes F to A, then to the second years, also subdivided into Classes F to A, then the third years, the fourth years, and finally—

The Elite Seven.

But Amy suddenly stopped moving when she saw that a lone girl was standing unaccompanied in front of the list of the Elite Seven, looking up at the list of names unblinkingly. She was a stark contrast to everyone else—besides wearing an Elite uniform exactly like the one Amy wore, she was the only student who didn't get affected by the spell of buzzing excitement stimulated by the first day of school. She was so still, and Amy felt as if her skin hair rose at the cold aura that she emitted, almost as if repelling everyone else from her sphere of influence. The girl had green eyes, just like Amy's, but this older girl's faded a little more into grey, as if worn by the test of life.

And Amy recognized those eyes.

As if suddenly breaking out of a trance, the girl suddenly turned her head to face Amy, her pleated lemon yellow skirt the sun moving like orchestrated piano keys over her legs as she did so—and that was when Amy's breath was suddenly caught in her throat, the silent girl's identity now officially confirmed.

Yellow meant Ekaterina.

"S- _Sinead_ …?"

Sinead Starling pretended to look like she had just seen her there. "Oh, Amy, there you are," she greeted, the seemingly warm words betraying the coldness of her eyes. She smiled, but it seemed strained. "Hi."

"H-hi."

They stood in silence.

"S-so…how are you?" Amy felt like kicking herself for every pathetic syllable her stuttering mouth could offer her. But she had to keep on talking—she didn't know what the driving force was, but she felt pressured, unknowingly by her own social fear. "H-How's life?"

"Fine."

Amy waited, but was utterly disappointed that she didn't add anything more to that previous comment. That monosyllabic reply basically closed off everything that they could possibly talk about. So what else was there for Amy to say?

"Oh."

More silence.

Sinead, who thought that this conversation was heading nowhere, hooked up her shoulder bag higher onto her shoulders, the bored expression on her face showing her great disinterest in these kinds of things. "See you."

The Ekaterina turned around, ready to go. But then, Amy stepped forward, hand outstretched, "W-wait!"

Sinead stopped, then twisted her body to look at her, wordlessly waiting for what Amy had just been about to say. For that split second that their eyes met, the Madrigal felt a little grateful for having even been given even the tiniest bit of her attention—but that thankful sensation didn't last for any longer than a second. Almost immediately, she felt herself paralyzed once more under the Starling's overpowering gaze, and whatever she had been about to say earlier dried up from her mouth and rose to the air like evaporation. She was completely aware that Sinead was waiting an answer from her, but that was also the same pressure was what was making her incapable to do anything. She couldn't explain it.

She just felt pathetic standing there.

" _What?"_ Sinead demanded, the littlest hint of annoyance apparent in her tone. "If you're going to say something, then say it."

"I—um…I just…I just wanted to congra—"

" _Congratulate_ me?" Sinead snapped, eyes suddenly widening incredulously, her mood swing coming from seemingly out from the blue. Impassiveness now having turned into anger, she said, " _Seriously?_ You're mocking me, aren't you?"

Amy blinked, trying to comprehend her words. But nevertheless, all attempts were useless, because she came up with no rational explanation as to why Sinead would come across to such conclusion. "Me? _Mocking you?_ " she questioned, shocked. "Why would I—why would you—I'd never do such—!"

"Stop. Don't say any more."

"But—"

"I _said,_ don't say any more." Sinead's expression didn't even change, even as bitterness flared out from her words like fire. Her incredibly effective façade looked so bright and honeyed, that, in fact, she even _smiled_ just as sweetly at Amy, despite the apparent dark cold shoulder treatment she's already giving her as of the moment. Sinead continued, still with that pretend smile, "Because, I already know what you're going to say. You're going to pretend like you're happy for me, but inside you're happy for /you/. You're going to pretend like you're the goody-goody girl who impresses everybody who's watching, but I know who you really are."

Sinead paused, that smile on her face staying fixated at where it is. The way she pulled off that unchanging smile _frightened_ Amy—in fact she probably preferred it more if Sinead just instead yelled or actually got visually mad at her, instead of this, _this_ , when Amy knew well enough that it was apparent that the Starling inwardly wanted to burn her to ashes, but she still pretended like it's all candies and sprinkles.

"You're a traitor."

She said it simply, still smiling, all calm and cosy as if they were talking about the weather.

"What?" Amy took a step back. "But that doesn't even make any—"

"No, no, really. Don't sweat it." Sinead shook her palms at her, in a gesture that said that she, in fact, didn't really, actually mind at all. "It's fine. Totally fine. I understand. You scored higher than me. So what? You can brag about it all year if you want to—see if I care." Then, the smile turned a thousand hues darker, her voice toning down to a whisper. "But trust me when I tell you this. By the end of the school year, Amy Cahill, I swear I'm going to come out on top. For now, though," she said, that dark air suddenly dissipating, holding out a hand towards her, beckoning her to do the formalities. "I'll let you celebrate your victory. Congratulations, Amy."

The Madrigal felt like wanting to disappear right then and there. Long ago, their meetings had been cheery and warm, but now, it was incredibly uncomfortable—that much had changed through the years as they grew up. Their friendship had been so easily erased by family expectations and school competition, like chalk wiped away from a blackboard, never to be written again.

Amy shook Sinead's hand.

With one last smile, Sinead started walking away, repelling the other students who wanted to take a picture with her with menacing glares as she did so. She walked straight ahead, and the stoic impassiveness sort of made Dan kind of frightened as he watched the Ekaterina walk off as he stood from behind Amy, who was the lone witness of the awkwardness of the entire exchange.

"Huh?" he started, scratching his neck. "What's the matter with Starbucks?"

Amy knew. But she faced away, refusing to meet Dan's questioning gaze—

"I'd…rather not talk about it."

"Why?" he prodded. "Just because she's got a lower class rank, she gets mad like that? I mean, not like _mad_ mad, maybe a little _like_ mad, since you saw that creepy smile, but still—"

Sigh. Her brother had an incredible photographic memory, but sometimes his brain just worked too slowly. "I said, I'd rather _not_ —"

"HELLO, MY FELLOW ELITES!" a sonorous voice suddenly boomed like thunder from behind them, and it was followed by the clicking of cameras. "The star player had just arrived!"

It was Hamilton Holt, strutting towards the Cahill siblings like he owned the entire university.

Amy and Dan whirled around, and when they saw that it was him, they gaped at him in shock, their jaws dropping at the floor in bewildered astonishment.

Because, look at it this way.

What in the world was he _doing_ wearing an Elite uniform?

"Oh, did I just scare you there? Sorry." Hamilton grinned, obviously pleased of himself for making them speechless. "But not really. I was just testing if my fellow Elites can take…" he paused, being one for theatrics. "… _surprises_." He then stretched his arms outward, as if letting the two siblings comprehend what they were just seeing in front of them.

Dan took his time observing Hamilton. His chest boasted the blue necktie that hung on his white uniform, the letters 'ES' embroidered on the silk material. As Dan registered Hamilton's uniform, he suddenly noticed that he was…

… _an Elite?_

"Why are you wearing _that_?" Dan demanded.

" _Hamilton_?" said Amy, who could not get over it. "You're—you're on ES _too?_ "

"Well, duh." Hamilton didn't even seem to get offended of their shocked expressions, the utter disbelief written all over their faces—in fact, he felt even prouder than ever. "All of you thought that the Tomas aren't smart enough to get into the Elite Seven, but don't be surprised if you see _me_ being crowned as valedictorian this year!" Hamilton turned his back to them with a satisfied grin, flinging his shoulder bag over his, well, shoulders, waving a hand at his fans who kept taking pictures of him as he did so. "See y'all at the finish line—that is, if you even _manage_ to run fast enough to beat me! Like a Tomas! Booyah!"

Dan waited until the Holt was eventually out of earshot. Then he laughed, like he'd just heard the funniest joke ever made. And, really. It just might be. "You? _Valedictorian_? _Ha!_ Fat chance of _that_!"

A handsome, British-accented voice as smooth as silk was suddenly heard from behind Amy and Dan.

"You can most _definitely_ say that again."

Dan immediately knew who the owner of that voice was. The Madrigal smirked, and did _exactly_ as the Cobra said, whirling around to point a finger at _him_ , just for the sheer awesomeness of it.

"You? _Valedictorian?_ Ha! Fat chance of _th_ —"

"Oh, save your banal wit for the uncultured swine who'd appreciate it." Ian Kabra wore a bored expression on his face, the tone of his words coming out as mechanical and automatic, as if he even _expected_ that kind of dull remark coming from Daniel Cahill. Well, that much is to be expected from someone as immature; because the Madrigal, in his opinion, was the most dull-witted and foolish among the prestigious class of the Elite Seven. Honestly, he didn't even know _what_ made the university faculty put the young boy and his sister in Elites in the first place—they were _Madrigals_ , and Madrigals were nothing more than weakest members of the Cahills, with their sanctimonious and goody two-shoes attitudes that would never be able to match the talents of the Tomas, the Janus, the Ekaterina, and, of course, the most brilliant of them all, the Lucians. It was an insult to him that someone like Dan Cahill was even _allowed_ to enter the Elites. His petite little sister, Natalie, who was too busy _trying_ to busy herself in examining her nails from beside him, probably thought of the same thing—maybe that was why she pretended she didn't care at all, when, actually, she did.

But just then, his foul mood suddenly warmed up when his eyes landed upon Amy, who stood behind Dan. Her green eyes met his, and—it took his breath every time. Now, _she_ was a sight to behold, and even if she _was_ a Madrigal, a rival and a threat for first honours, in fact he didn't even mind, which he didn't know was a good sign or not. Completely ignoring Dan's murderous glare, he let himself smirk, saying, "Ah, and _there_ you are, love…" He walked forwards, intending to reach her, "The one I've been looking for all this time. I see you haven't changed one bit from last year—"

Dan stepped between them, before Ian could even reach her. "Not one more step towards my sister, _Cobra_."

Ian scowled down at him, utterly displeased. "You too. You've stayed just as annoying."

"A-and _you_ s-s-s- _still_ haven't stopped c-calling me that."

Ian turned to Amy, who had now finally managed a decent enough sentence. Hearing her adorable stuttering voice was enough to make his scowl turn into an arrogant smirk, all thoughts about murdering a certain Daniel Cahill suddenly evaporating into the air.

"Calling you what, my love?"

Amy's face practically morphed into a mortified red.

"C-Calling me _that_."

Ian merely chuckled, as if communicating through that gesture that he just couldn't help it. "Ah, well, love, that nickname suits you. Regardless, though, have you seen the class ranks yet? Because, even I must say, the results were quite…" His forehead wrinkled a bit as he searched for the right word, until he decided on the most appropriate option his mind could offer him.

"…surprising."

Amy paused. Did he just say… _surprising?_

Did that mean that the class ranking actually _changed?_

She excitedly went over to the bulletin board, right where the list for the Elite Seven, closed her eyes, and crossed her fingers. After the little arrow prayer was said and sent, she opened her eyes and started sweeping them up from down the rank seventh, slowly, slowly, towards the sixth, the fifth, the fourth, third, up to rank first, where she anticipated to see her name listed on the _top_ of the list. Ian Kabra had been a life-long rival and she _longed_ to defeat him, because he'd always, always come out on top, no matter how hard Amy tried—whether it be quarterly tests, aptitude exams, and mock missions, she'd always be second, second, _second_. She wanted to defeat him and become first for once, but she never actually managed to do 'such optimistically ambitious thing', as Ian liked to coin it—but she never gave up trying, anyway. She wasn't the competitive type of person, yes, everybody could see it that much, but the story becomes a little more different when Amy Cahill was a student. Because, no matter what he said, Amy believed that if she tried hard enough, she could achieve what she _really_ wanted:

To make Grace proud by proving to everyone else that the Madrigals are _not_ inferior.

But as her eyes slowly went up the list, and saw the results…

She could only blink.

* * *

**CAHILL UNIVERSITY  
since 1739**

**LIST OF** _**ALL** _ **CU STUDENTS, THEIR CLASSES, AND ROOM NUMBERS**

**RANKING**

~*~ Elite Seven ~*~

1\. Ian Kabra, 3rd year, Lucian (Entrance exam grade: 97.457)  
2\. Amy Hope Cahill, 3rd year, Madrigal (96.454)  
3\. Sinead Starling, 4th year, Ekaterina (96.266)  
4.5. Daniel Arthur Cahill, 2nd year, Madrigal (95.600)  
4.5. Natalie Kabra, 2nd year, Lucian (95.600)  
6\. Jonah Wizard, 4th year, Janus (95.324)  
7\. Hamilton Holt, 4th year, Tomas (95.024)

\- Regular Classes -

_4_ _th_ _Years  
-.- Class A. Napoleon Bonaparte Hall, room 201. -.-_

1\. Eriele Cienfuegos, 4th year, Lucian (94.426)  
2\. Cara Pierce, 4th year, Ekaterina (94.420)  
3\. ….

* * *

She had to blink a thousand times just to make sure she was seeing things correctly.

"I…an…Ka… _Kabra…?_ " she said, reading each and every painful syllable of his name that was imprinted on the list, just placed right before the number 1. She couldn't believe it. She ranked second.

Again.

"So you see, I must say that I was _surprised_ of the results because I _thought_ you said you _promised_ to defeat me." She heard his footsteps as Ian approached her from behind, and Amy could practically smell the smugness that was him. Or probably it was just his clove-scented cologne, but Amy wanted to think that it was his sickening arrogance. He chuckled. "A pity you haven't. But, I guess you're used to it already, aren't you, Miss Lovely Rank Two?"

Amy whirled around, getting absolutely red in the ears. "Don't. Call me. _Rank Two!_ "

"Oh, so I shan't." Ian patted her head once, just to provoke her, but Amy vehemently swatted his hand away, as if she was even disgusted. This only gave him a laugh. "Well, if you don't want my appellations, then, what should I call you?"

"Wh-why don't you try my _actual_ name?"

"Hmm. Amy, is that it?"

" _Y-yes!"_

"Ah, but love, you deserve something a little more breath-taking than that." Ian pretended to think for a second. "How about Miss Lovely Rank Two?"

How she hated him.

"Th-this year, Ian, y-you will eat all of those words, b-b-because I _will_ defeat you! One day!" She pointed a competitive finger at him, and she could hear the 'Oooh' of the crowd that she didn't even realize had gathered around them to witness the argument. But, she hardly even cared about them. Right now, her one and only focus was to defeat this arrogant Ian Kabra, just so she could see the look on his face when _he_ realizes that _he_ was rank two, because she, proudly a Madrigal, had defeated him. She would stomp on his gigantic ego, and, oh, _all_ those galling Lucians will _see_. "Just you wait!"

Ian maintained his calm, brushing off an imaginary speck of dust from his pristine white Elite polo shirt, not the tiniest bit intimidated by her supposed-to-be threatening words. "Thank you, but I'd rather not, honestly. I'd be bored _waiting_ for that day, because…" He neared his face to hers, just to emphasize his point. "…it would never come."

The crowd went _howling_ , even louder than before, even Dan, which made him a recipient of one of Amy Cahill's death glares.

" _BUURRRN!"_

Amy felt her insides twisting, her face reddening at their closeness, but she refused to give in to defeat and stared just as menacingly into those challenging amber eyes of his, even if she so desperately wanted to melt on the floor like butter and never come back again.

"What's wrong, Miss Lovely Rank Two?" Ian smirked that annoying smirk of his. "Can't you even _say_ anything?"

The creep.

"Y- _You_ ," she stuttered, her face going even redder than before, "are such an arrogant, stuck-up—!"

" _All_ of you are stuck-up."

Ian, Natalie, Dan, Amy, and everybody else all turned their heads to face four other girls standing across of them. Almost just as immediately, murmurs spread through every single one like a wave, but silence fell on every student once Ian's eyes landed onto the four fuming ladies.

"Pardon?"

One of them, their leader, an Asian looking girl, took hold of the conversation.

"I _said_ ," she emphasized irritably, " _all_ of you are stuck-up."

Murmurs spread out.

"Why, you—"

"Daniel." Ian calmly kept his gaze straight ahead at the girls. "The one who loses his head would be the one to lose."

For a second, Dan looked puzzled, not comprehending. Natalie rolled her eyes at this and decided to translate it for him.

"You blockhead. That means: Be calm, don't fight them. They'd eventually give up, anyway. We're the Elites, and they—" she spared the four girls a superior smirk "—they're nothing more than regulars."

The murmurs intensified, some offended students finding their mouths wide open in shock.

"All of you…" the girl whispered, her voice full of hatred and bitterness, which once more silenced everybody. All eyes were on her, but she kept her gaze directly at Ian Kabra, first honours student of the Elite Seven. "All of you are…are so… so… _arrogant_ , so _full of yourselves_ , and you think you can look down at all of the regular students, just because you're part of _that_ stupid little _club?_ "

It was on Amy's instinct to protest. "L-Look down on you? I-I'd never— _we'd_ never!"

"Hmm," Ian said, matter-of-factly, "I already _am_ looking down upon you—since you, how do I say this, _deserve_ it—but please presume that it's just me."

The girl practically burst in flames at the Lucian's offensive comment. _"We deserve to be looked upon?!_ "

Amy glared back at Ian. _Not really helping._

Ian's eyes held laughter. _Really, love?_

Natalie sighed. Tired of this meaningless play of words, the brunette girl decided that it was high time that she stepped forward and started pointing out things here, which her older brother Ian had just so annoyingly failed to do. Just one of the perks of having a smitten brother. He should be thankful that he had a sister as fabulous as her.

"Lady," she confronted, "we are where we are right now because we worked hard to obtain it." Natalie made sure to make her voice as smooth and calm as possible, just so the other party would be aggravated even more. "So, if you want _us_ to look up to _you_ , then I suggest that you start doing the same thing."

The girl wanted to burst. But then, her three other friends started nudging at her, pulling at her arms to take her away. Everybody heard snippets of 'Come on, Eriele, it's still so early in the morning' and 'Please, girl. Pull yourself together' or even 'Calm down. Don't let them get to your head.'

The crowd silently watched them walk away, with the girl, now revealed as Eriele, being dragged dismally along with them, although she still refused to remove that scowl that she wore on her face. Once they were out of sight, everybody either started returning to their old business, or talking about the incident that had happened just now, the spirit of the morning chatter coming back to reign. Amy, Dan, Ian, and Natalie were not exceptions.

"What was _that_ all about?" Dan mused aloud.

"There are people who appreciate the Elites," Natalie explained with a delicate yawn. She slowly walked towards the bulletin board herself to see the list of class ranks, adjusting the gigantic red Marcello sunhat that rested onto her head as she did so. "But even so, there would always be those who would hate us."

"Of course, you can't please everybody, as they say," Ian agreed, nodding. "Now, Natalie, shall we—"

But suddenly, a shrilly voice pierced through the air that Dan had to cover his ears to protect his eardrums from breaking. A certain red Marcello sunhat flew to the ground, now neglected of its owner's attention.

" _Aaahhh_! This is terrible!"

" _What's the big idea?"_ Dan shrieked.

"Oh, I'll answer you _what_!" was the little British girl's startling response that the earth beneath probably shook. She pointed at the bulletin board with a perfectly French-manicured finger, its red tint highlighting Dan and Natalie's name. How come she'd only noticed this now? " _This_ is _what_!"

* * *

4.5 Daniel Arthur Cahill, 2nd year, Madrigal (95.600)  
4.5 Natalie Kabra, 2nd year, Lucian (95.600)

* * *

Dan was confused at what was probably wrong with their names and why Natalie was pointing at them.

"Eh?"

" _This_ is the _worst_ of the days I've ever had in my _entire life_! Ian! Look at this _horrid_ ranking system! Horrid! Absolutely horrid! I shall sue whoever computed our grades—there must be some mistake! I can't be with the same rank as with that…that…" Natalie was breathing furiously now, having a difficult time to pick a word among thousands of others that could fit into Daniel's character very perfectly.

But eventually she found the perfect set of words, and pointed an accusing finger at Daniel.

"That stupid American _git_!"

It took Dan a second to take all Natalie's words in. _I can't be with the same rank as with that awesome American ninja_ , she said. The same rank as with that awesome American ninja. The same rank as with that awesome American ninja. The same rank as with that awesome American—wait. What?

"Natalie Kabra and I are a _tie?!_ " he asked, as horrified of the fact as Natalie was.

Ian frowned and came up to his sister's defence. "Do not call my sister a gnat, Cahillian peasant. If you think I haven't noticed that single extra emphasis you've put on her name's first syllable, then think again."

"Okay, then, I'll remove the G from the spelling, and see if the word even changes. _Nat_ alie Cobra—see, she sounds _exactly_ like a gnat, so don't you complai—"

"That is beside the point!" Natalie sighed exasperatedly, fanning herself dramatically with her long, slender fingers. Whenever it came to arguments like this, Dan Cahill had always been tiring. And annoying. Giving up now would be the best option to save her face from having exhaustion wrinkles—he would never be able to understand how much trouble it meant to her just by sharing the same rank with _him_. She needed to study harder. Work harder. Elevate herself in the ranking, and beat Dan to it. In the world of the Cahill University, Madrigals were considered as the weaklings, the scrawniest, the talentless—and a Lucian, tied in a tie with someone like _him?_

_Once Mum knew…_

"The humidity here is _horrid_ ," she said, changing the topic, trying to draw herself away from the thought as far as she could possibly be. "We must go inside the manor now, Ian. And what has gotten into you? We enter the school, and instead of noticing the decent enough design of the university buildings, you suddenly suggest that we approach the fashion tragedy show, Amy and Dan—"

"My _word_ , sister dear," said Ian, gracefully hooking his arm into Natalie's before she could blurt out something that he wouldn't like her to blurt out. Anyone who looked would be impressed at the brotherly gesture, but what they'd never know was that there was a hidden forcefulness behind the act. "We must, indeed, go inside the manor. The heat must be parching your brain cells."

He turned to Amy to give her a last minute reminder. "A pleasure, Miss Lovely Rank Two. Good luck surviving with your brother for the next five minutes." He smirked. " _And_ the entire school year."

"How many times do I have to tell you—don't call me _Rank Two!_ "

The Kabra siblings only walked away, laughing.

"Tsk." Dan scowled, now thankful of being alone with his sister to say the one thing he'd been itching to say ever since he stepped into this school. "They're despicable. All of _them_ , against the two of _us_."

Amy agreed. "And the morning bell for the first day of school hadn't even been rung yet."

But then, as if on cue with her thoughts, a sound suddenly broke through the air, shattering the peaceful fragility and setting everyone to panicked and excited motion. It almost sounded as if it was signalling the start of a war in a battlefield—

_Krrrriing!_


	3. Classmates

Jonah Wizard was ever the dramatist.

"But _Daaad!_ " he theatrically whined to his father, world-famous voice turning into a childish groan. He ignored the amused stare he received from the limo driver on the front, who had his hands on the steering wheel at 2 and ten o'clock, and just stared in horror at his father, who sat across him. "Why did you let Mom do that? Isolating the Elite Seven from the rest of the world? What kind of school'd do something like that? What was she thinking?" he rambled on. "Doesn't she want me to socialize even for just a bit? You could've told mom that!"

Broderick sighed for the umpteenth time as lowered his BlackBerry from his face to look into his son's eyes. He understood perfectly why Jonah even wanted to go to school. It was not because he wanted to _learn_ —what would Jonah do with a bunch of useless stuff if he'd already mastered all Mozart pieces and could recite Shakespeare by heart even better than the best scholars?—but it was because he wanted to socialize.

Yes. Socialize.

Being home-schooled all his life, Jonah hadn't experienced what it was like to have classmates and teachers and homework. Jonah had thousands of fans, millions even, but he didn't have any friends. So ever since Jonah heard the news that his mother had allowed him take the entrance exam to Cahill University, he had been hoping to make some friends once he entered the class. But apparently that wasn't happening.

"Jonah," said Broderick, his paternal instincts making him feel disappointed at seeing his son so disappointed. He felt terrible that he was the one who had to see Jonah like this, but he couldn't really do anything about it. "Just bear with your mother's decision, okay? And anyway, I warned you about not enrolling at all. You know how your mother is—unpredictable, and sometimes…insensitive." He shrugged like it was not a big deal, but in reality, that was just his way of trying to shoo every negative energy off. "Unfortunately, you're not allowed to back out from this once you're admitted. This is what you get for not listening to my advice."

Jonah groaned. Well, how else was he supposed to respond? "Still! You could've told mom."

Broderick went back to his BlackBerry, chuckling bleakly, hoping to distract himself from his son's whining by scrolling down through the messages. "Well. Even if I told her not to do it, she still wouldn't budge. You know her."

Jonah could only cross his arms in disdain. It was true. It's not like he or his father, the two men of her life, had any control over Cora's actions. Cora Wizard was the Iron Lady of the Janus—she could never be swayed from obtaining what she wants once she had her sights on it. Cora, being Cahill University's Elite Seven Chief Executive, had any and all control over what was to happen to the said special class of seven students. Once she had known that Jonah Wizard was successfully admitted to the Elite Seven, she had changed the rules on the last minute and was immediately approved by faculty, and even worse, by the University President herself, Grace Cahill.

The Elite Seven were back from being isolated from the rest of the school.

That means that the Elite are required _not_ to attend classes. No homework, no blackboard, no terror teachers, no classmates, no quizzes or recitation exams. They have the freedom to do anything they want to, as long as it doesn't break the school rules and regulations. This is, of course, for as long as they study vigorously with their special, personal mentors for five hours a week and excel at any mock mission thrown at them by the dean. Not attending the regular classes was a freedom, a privilege given to the top seven Cahill students, the reason why everyone wanted to enter the Elite so badly in the first place. But then of course, you have to excel at everything to achieve such a thing. This was a pretty sweet deal if you look at it on the surface, but, strangely, Jonah didn't like this rule. Jonah didn't like this rule at all.

These were the rules of the past. However, it was only last school year when Jonah heard about his mother deciding on something new: that the Elite Seven should attend classes, just the same like regular students. Jonah had been delighted to hear this, because finally he could become an Elite and socialize at the same time. It was a win-win situation that would retain his pride as an Elite and get him the friends he wanted. That was why he took the exam for the Elite in the first place, and naturally got accepted.

But now, now that Jonah had finally enrolled, it seems as if his mother had brought back the old rule: isolating the Elite Seven from the rest of the students and not attend the regular classes at all. Not pretty. It was just like being home-schooled all the same. It was bad enough that Cora was his mother (not that he could ever say this aloud), but her being the Elite Seven Chief Executive was…terrible. Just his luck.

Because, from what Jonah had heard, the other members of the Elite were preening pompous narcissists where the only thing that mattered to them were the grades.

There were the diabolical and extremely poisonous Cobras.

That brutally gigantic muscular Dolt.

Grace Cahill's favourite pets, those goody-goody Madrigal siblings.

And that mad Ekat scientist named Starbucks.

Or Stringy.

Or something like that.

The point is, they weren't exactly the type of friends he had in mind. He groaned and let his face fall into his hands as he realized it.

This year's going to be incredibly boring.

* * *

And, apparently, Dan Cahill was thinking the same thing.

He sulked down at his chair and placed his chin down at the smooth, white table top. He raised his bored eyes up at the projector screen, and there she was, his beloved grandmother Grace, the only person whom he'd really been anticipating to see after such a long time—and, as she talked over there in front of them like a mechanical dummy, she wasn't even giving him a single glance.

Back when he and Amy were still kids, he'd always been excited for weekends because by then Grace would haul them out of Beatrice's prison apartment, and then together they'd have fun and ice cream over at her mansion. But that routine stopped a year ago, because Grace had been very busy because of Cahill matters, being the university head and all. All those time, he'd really been bored without her. Thank goodness Grace had hired Nellie to become her replacement while she was gone, but of course no one could replace the charm and grace that, er…only Grace could grace them with.

That was why he'd been a bit excited about going to school this morning. He was finally going to see Grace, after all those dull and dreary days that passed by like a blur. He was finally going to see that one person who had treated him as a son when he had no mother. But, when he had entered the conference room along with his fellow Elites, Grace had only given him a smile. A smile that she gave to everyone else.

Honestly _._ One would think that he and Amy would be Grace's personal favourites. He even thought that Grace would eventually say, 'Oh, Dan, you've grown handsome!' or 'Hello, Dan. Looking as awesome as ever, aren't we?' Just so he could show to everyone in the room that Grace was acknowledging him for his awesomeness. But of course she'd said no such thing, and over time Dan had zoned himself out of the orientation and quit listening altogether. He already knew all those boring school rules and regulations anyway. Grace was only probably doing this for the sake of Hamilton, who was the newest member of the Elite. He didn't like to think it, but, face it, Grace was treating each and every one of them equally, with no special mentions of him or Amy or anyone. He knew that he had to be amazed of Grace's strict sense of equality, but he just couldn't help feeling a bit disappointed.

He was then nudged by someone at his side.

"Sit up straight, you dweeb, and listen to what Grace is saying," his older sister whisper-yelled at his ear. "You look even dweeber than normal slouching like that."

"Oh yeah?" he said, a twinkle mischief suddenly giving his dull, bored eyes with a little light. "What's in it for me?"

"Grace'd notice you and tell you off!"

"Exactly."

"What do you mean, exactly?"

"I meant, exactly."

"Exactly what?" snapped a rankled Amy, when Dan still stubbornly refused to elaborate.

"I," dutifully replied a diplomatic Dan, " _exactly_ want Grace to notice me and tell me off." He grinned, naughtily. "Us off."

Amy stared at him, annoyance and confusion morphing her facial lines. It was hard to see it in the conference room's dark lighting, with only the projector screen giving a tinge of blue light, but Dan could see that apprehension in his sister's eyes. Oh, his dorky big sister, always afraid to be scolded by the adults. He figured that he could use that fact to his advantage, just for the fun of it.

Amy finally managed to get some words out. "What do you mean we—"

"Ahem," Grace interrupted, cutting short the mini banter. Amy swivelled her head around to see that Grace had her arms crossed over her chest, luminous green eyes staring at hers. But not only her— _everyone_ else had averted their gazes to the two Cahills to see what was going on, and that just made Amy blush an intense beet red and bow her head down.

"We're very sorry, Grace. Please go on."

That earned her and Dan a gentle smile from the old and wise woman. "That's quite alright, Amy, Dan. Just make sure you don't talk again while I am discussing. I will give you the time later to ask questions if you have some. Now then." The smile vanished, just as soon as it appeared. She then made hand gestures towards the interactive white board, explaining the bulleted items one by one as they flashed before them in simple yet professional-looking animations. "Well, my dear students, as you can see here, the percentage of the scores that you will achieve on your quarterly assessments will comprise of 25 per cent of the computation of your final grade…"

Amy sat back on her chair as Grace talked in front, while all the five other Elites stared at her, listening, nodding as they absorbed all the information. Amy, however, couldn't help feeling riled up. She had just been scolded by Grace. And she hated being scolded by adults. Well, she wasn't exactly humiliated, and for that she was grateful to Grace, but still, being scolded, even though silently, embarrassed her to the core. She needed to say something to the annoying crab beside her to at least vent a drop of her anger towards someone, else she'd lose it.

"You dweeb _."_ She couldn't say anything else.

Well, Dan didn't exactly turn his head to look at her, his eyes steadily looking at Grace like everyone else, but the grin that played on his face indicated that he heard her just as perfectly.

"What did you say, o sister dear?"

A vein could have popped in Amy's forehead. She wasn't one to persist on prolonging meaningless banters, but she couldn't help hissing it out.

"Dweeb _._ "

"Dork."

"Dweeb."

"Dork!"

There came the onslaught of a theatrical moan.

"Do you two idiots _mind?_ " interjected a narked Natalie, who, along with the others, had her annoyed eyes directed towards the siblings. She took one look at Dan, and then at Amy. "Honestly, Amelia, I had thought that you were more mature than your moron of a brother over there."

Dan stared at Natalie after that comment. It was the universal language for 'huh'.

"Ugh, Daniel, will you stop ogling at me like that?" groaned Natalie, covering her face with her hands as if disgusted. "I know I'm a pleasure to look at, but you're bad for my skin."

"A _pleasure_ to look at?" snorted Dan. "You know what, you're so ugly that a wart-faced witch looks even prettier than you."

The pampered princess gasped, offended. "Take that back, you cretinous idiot!"

Grace cleared her throat. Natalie and Dan were still staring daggers at each other, but took one look at the stiff eyes of Grace and grudgingly returned back into their seats.

"Thank you. Now, as I was saying. The mock missions will comprise of your final grade's largest percentage. 80 per cent. Fail even one mock mission, and you are out of the Elite Seven." Her tone had reached a sharp edge when she said this. "As you all well know, Isabel Kabra, head of the Lucian department, will be the one who would devise your mock missions. Her new secretary, Marvin Speede, will help her in developing them. Each of you will have one mission per quarter, meaning you have four per year, and in each, you will work in pairs, which will be assigned later. This is, except for the fourth and final mock mission, where all of you are required to work together. You would be graded according to accomplishment, performance, efficiency, and strategy. Your final grades majorly comprise of these mock missions, so please, dear students, as the future of the Cahill legacy, do _not_ make a joke out of these." At this, she stared at each and every one of them directly in the eye, her gaze lasting a second longer on Dan's than everyone else. "Understood?"

"Yes, Madame Cahill," all of them responded. That is, except for one. Grace noticed and turned her head to face him.

"Question, Hamilton?"

The Tomas student lowered the hand that he had just raised as he stood up from his chair. "Well, I was just wondering. You just said that Isabel Kabra is the one who makes the mock missions. Right?"

"Correct."

"And that the mock missions are an extremely huge part of our grades. Right?"

"Correct again," replied a dry voice that did not belong to Grace. Grace and everyone else turned their heads towards Sinead, who had her chin on her on the palm of her hand, elbow propped up on the table top. "We all know that, you Dolt. Why don't you just get to the point?"

Hamilton bit his lip. "I'm getting to that. And it's Holt, not Dolt!"

"Oh, right, so it's Dolt. Sorry, I mean, _Holt_." Sinead looked at him in the eye. "Hamilton Holt, the murderer."

Her cold and sharp words stabbed Hamilton like a knife.

"Administer respect, Miss Starling," reprimanded Grace, before something exploded into an argument. "Hamilton is not a murderer. Let us forget the past, forgive each other, and move on. We have the future to tend to, Sinead. It was not his fault. That Franklin Institute mission last year was entirely an accident. Now. Moving on—"

"Alright then," interrupted the Ekaterina, "I'm just going to forget that Ted is blind and Ned is disfigured, all because of an _exceptionally_ dim-witted Tomas who planted that bomb on the building to make my brothers fail the mock mission last year, so that, oh look, he could get accepted in the Elite Seven this year." Sinead smiled, too sweetly to be true. "Let us all just forget that, shall we?"

Grace let a patient sigh escape her lips. Such patience could only come from years of dealing with the same Cahill students through and through, every year, always fighting, divided by their branches. Well, what should she have expected? Bearing grudges for a long period of time was a dominant characteristic of the Cahills. Well, Grace had already tried her best, giving Sinead guidance for numerous times in the past, but the young Ekat just wouldn't listen. It was already beyond Grace's control if the Starling chose to be hateful all her life or not.

"Yes, Miss Starling. Now. Hamilton?" said the olden Cahill matriarch, returning to the matter at hand. "What was your question again?"

"Oh. Right. My question." Hamilton cleared his throat, as if to gather his guts back to him again. "So. You said that it's Ma'am Isabel who creates the mock missions. But how can we be sure that Ian and Natalie's sweet mummy over at the Lucian department doesn't cheat on our grades in the first place? Worse, what if the Cobras over here—" he gestured at the horrified sibling pair— " _already_ know what the missions are in the first place? It makes sense. They could be cheating. Nothing less from slippery Lucians."

Grace had a response for that, but, once again, wasn't given the chance to respond.

"Ah, is that right, Hamilton?" snapped a voice from a dark corner, the corner where Ian Kabra hid in the shadows. "You suspect _us_ of cheating? How noble of you and your Franklin Institute bomb."

"How many times do I have to…argh," Hamilton ran fingers down his face in frustration. Why were they all still egging on him about that? That was last year. And that was not his fault. He thought that the stupid Franklin incident had been made clear already. "I did not plant that bomb, you Kabra," he said, trying to imitate Grace's patience. "It was not my fault; it was all just an accident; it was _not_ my fault." He pointed a stubby finger at Ian to give his words the extra stress and emphasis it already had. "An! Accident!"

"Ah, calm down, now, Hamilton, of course it was, of _course_ it was," Ian amended, his accent a soothing melody, as if he was talking to a five-year-old. "Merely an accident." He took a sip of earl grey from his Wedgwood Oberon teacup, and gently placed it back on its matching saucer. "Say, Tomas," started Ian, his voice teetering over an ominous pit. "I am curious. Could you mentally answer a simple arithmetic problem?"

"Well of course I—"

"Tomas." A superior smirk played on Ian's lips, savouring that thrill he felt whenever issuing a challenge. "Let's say I'm having _such_ a trouble with arithmetic. Will you multiply thirteen to twenty-four point five for me?"

The Tomas was stunned by that. The effect was almost physical—he looked as if he had just been brutally punched by an iron fist on the stomach. Natalie just drummed her fingers onto the white table top, staring up at the Holt in question in mild amusement. Sinead couldn't help herself from snickering, crossing her arms over her chest as she shook her head at him in mockery. Amy and Dan could only exchange glances.

Grace sighed, for perhaps the umpteenth time. "Now, now, children, we shouldn't be—"

"No, no wait! I have it!" announced Hamilton, preventing the old woman from speaking any further. He was not going to let the Holt pride get trampled by mere numbers, and he was going to show that snooty Kabra how a real Tomas should answer a—

"Well?" mocked Natalie with a quirk of an eyebrow. "Do not keep us waiting. We all do not know the answer."

"I…I…well I—!"Hamilton was inwardly panicking now. Oh, darn it, why did the digits have to be so large? Thirteen and twenty-four point five. And they also had to give him a decimal unit. Just great. He was still mentally processing the numbers inside his head, desperate to grab at the answer, but he didn't seem to be coming anywhere near to the conclusion. His panic and the time constraint, with the seconds ticking themselves away like a countdown bomb, didn't help very much to his mental processes either. And it reflected at his clearly distressed face.

Amy wanted to go help the Holt from out of this humiliating situation, knowing exactly how it felt like to be pelted by your classmates. She was disgusted at Ian, Natalie, and Sinead's cruelty—why did it have to be, that in every school, there was a bully? But then, thankfully, Dan, who sat nearest to Hamilton, whispered something to the said Tomas. She can't lip-read what he'd just whispered to Ham, but presumably it was the answer. She sighed a sigh of relief when Hamilton seemed to have heard Dan's small whisper.

"I…well…the answer is…is three hundred and nineteen!" he finally blurted.

Amy's eyes widened, sharply averting her gaze to Dan—who burst out laughing along with everyone else, apparently thinking that this was just a funny prank. And Hamilton stood in the middle of it, extremely embarrassed, not knowing what he should do with himself, not knowing why everyone was laughing.

Amy pulled her brother to her by the ear. "Why did you give him the wrong answer?" she hissed silently to him. The correct answer was three hundred and eighteen point five, but Hamilton's answer had been half a unit short. The way he's laughing now, Dan had given Ham the wrong answer—on purpose.

"Ack, Amy, let go!" said Dan, shooing her away. "Well, duh. He listened to me. To the wrong answer. Not my fault he didn't solve it himself. I was just testing if he'd listen to whatever I'd say, and I'd say now, he failed my test. Boo-hoo."

Amy recoiled from her brother. How terrible.

"I'm afraid you've got the wrong answer, Dolt," said Sinead, casually twirling a lock of blond hair after the gales of laughter were done. "I see that you're just the same idiot as always." She smirked as she arrogantly lifted her chin up at him. "Not that I expect that fact to change."

A chill ran up Hamilton's spine when she said that. Sinead Starling's infamous tone of voice had that effect on everyone, freezing anyone she talked to into ice. Meanwhile, all the thought that Hamilton's brain was able to process right now was this: why did Sinead just have to be so…cold?

"And—well—and you're—" the gears behind Hamilton's head spun rapidly to think of the most perfect insult against her, oh, how _good_ it would feel like to mock this inhuman Starbucks to her stinky grave— "well—your disfigured brothers must be _so_ thankful that they had a monstrous, robotic sister like you!"

It was Sinead's turn to freeze at that.

Grace and Amy, at the same time, like grandmother like granddaughter, stepped in between them to prevent the little quarrel from becoming a physical dispute. The Tomases were very well-known for their violence.

"Hamilton Holt! Stop talking at once!"

"What the _h_ —you're…you're telling _me_ to stop talking?" spluttered an incredulous Hamilton to Grace, forgetting all etiquette about respect. "And when _these_ bunch o' noodles were saying all those mean things to me, you didn't tell _them_ to stop talking?"

"Hamilton, recognize your superiors—"

"Well," interrupted Sinead, facing Hamilton with crossed arms, "maybe if smart things actually started sprouting from that rancid mouth of yours, people wouldn't ask you to clam up in the first place."

"Sinead—" Amy began.

"Ah," commented Ian as he sat back in his chair, crossing his legs in a relaxed manner as if he was watching an opera play before him. "A verbal fight. Something interesting at last."

Amy turned to him with a groan. "Ian…"

"Oh, like I bloody care!" retorted Hamilton to Sinead's previous remark. "You think you're so smart, huh, but what people don't know is that all that's ever stuffed in that stuck-up brain of yours is _everything_ about egotism!"

Sinead blinked at that. "Egotism—wow. Just wow. Hamilton, your vocabulary has grown. I am amazed! Honestly. That actually contains four syllables. Congratulations."

Hamilton felt like he was going to burst. Sinead just didn't stop with all those insults, didn't she?

Natalie could be heard royally clapping her delicate hands from the audience, a smirk playing on her lips. "You know what, Starling, I am starting to love your dark sarcasm."

The Tomas felt his stomach churning terribly with a poisonous acid. Sinead was incredibly mean, and his other classmates didn't seem very nice either—none even seemed to be caring about what he felt, being insulted and all that. It was already like that at home, where his father or mother or his sisters wouldn't even notice him if he'd already cut himself with a knife. But did it have to be like that here in school, too?

No. No, this was worse. His _classmates_ were the ones stabbing on him.

So, what to do?

His first instinct told him to stab them right back. Stab _her_ right back, at the ego where it hurts.

"Oh, so now I see why your beloved brothers left you here all alone in the first place!" he shouted, face reddening like mad, voice booming thunderously like his father's. Time to do some ego stomping. Being naturally a kind-hearted gentle giant, he'd never done this to anyone else before in his life, but figured that everyone must have a first time in everything. "You're a terribly awful person, did you know that? Blind Teddy and poor Neddie must've deliberately left you here and flew to Tel Aviv just to escape your vanity. They must've been so tired of being with you, and, look, because you were such a terrible sister, you've got them both hurt. It was _your_ fault the Franklin incident happened—maybe _you_ were the one who set up that bomb in the first place, because you didn't want Ned and Ted stealing your precious class rank. Huh, now that I actually think of it, that sounds just like _you!_ "

Sinead inhaled a sharp breath, getting red in the cheeks and moist in the eyes. She banged down her palms at the table and stood up, and even if she was a head and a half shorter than the Holt, she could've been the one towering over him.

" _My_ fault?!" she hollered, voice carrying throughout the conference room's four dark corners and bouncing back at her in indistinct echoes. "You're saying that _I_ was the one who tried to kill my own brothers? You blockhead! Dolt! You don't know anything, you daft, blithering piece of brainlessness!"

"Oh, excuse me, is that _meowing_ I hear?" Hamilton put a hand on his ear just for the fun of it. "Does anyone _else_ hear that meowing? Do I hear an E- _kat_?"

Sinead looked nothing less than murderous when she stared at Hamilton with that infamous cold glare of hers—though, frustratingly, it wasn't having any effect on the said Tomas right now. She'd had enough.

The Starling started to stomp away, pushing Hamilton's chest out of her way as hard as she could with her tiny hands.

"Sinead—" started Amy.

"Miss Starling, do not leave the conference room," said Grace, firmly. "We are not yet done with this."

"Oh, but Iam," said Sinead, twisting the doorknob and yanking the door open. But someone else was on the doorway. She found herself smashing into somebody else, and she started falling to the ground, a scream escaping her lips as she heard a hazy voice that said, 'Hey, yo, watch out!' and a hand grasped hers before she could hit the floor. That unexpected someone pulled her up to her feet and steadied her shaking form, when all she could do was become rendered with shock and breathlessness at her near crash-landing.

"H…hey, dudette, are you alright?" asked a very concerned Jonah Wizard, who landed a hand onto her shoulder. "Can you hear me? Hello?"

"You blithering _idiot_." Sinead very harshly slapped his hand from her shoulder like she was disgusted of it. "Don't touch me."

"Huh…?" The pop star then became very confused at how he was supposed to respond to that. He'd been really eager to meet some classmates ever since, and he'd been practicing some lines to say and how to deliver it to them, but he didn't know how to respond to… _this_. After all, it wasn't everyday people called you a blithering idiot. Well, that is, if you aren't an idiot in nature. But perhaps this was the way classmates said hello to each other on the first day they met? Yes. Yes, that must be it. So, assuming that this was the case, Jonah gathered the one most intelligent thing he could come up with for the minute, and said it with his most charming smile.

"Wassup, yo?"

Sinead, now _extremely_ annoyed at the system of the world, loudly groaned and harshly pushed him out of her way; and, Jonah, stumbling backwards in astonishment, could only watch her stomp down the halls, blond hair swaying like a thousand pendulum swings from behind her. The Wizard then popped his head into the conference room to see the University President, Grace Cahill, and his six other fellow Elites staring back at him.

"Uh…what's the matter with the lass?"

Grace sighed. This happens every year, nothing new. There was no need to run after the Ekaterina girl to make everything even more tedious than it already was.

"Welcome," she told Jonah, "to the world of the Cahills."

* * *

Sinead Starling was still fumingly angry when she bumped into someone else while stomping down the hallways. This was the second crash in less than five minutes. But, unlike the first collision with that egotistic Wizard jerk, this time, Sinead had no one to hold on to and actually fell on her back to the floor for real.

"Ow! Hey! Look at where you're…" she said, but then the continuation died down in her throat when she looked up and saw the person whom she'd just collided into. Sinead was not type of girl who swooned easily, but this person in front of her…

The sight of him was enough to make even Sinead Starling's eyes widen.

"Oh, dear me, I am very, very sorry, miss," the boy said, no, _gentleman_ , and he offered his hand down at her to help her up. Sinead didn't react, didn't even blink, just stared at the offered hand, and the gentleman interpreted her silence as hesitation. "Please, miss," he begged her with that deep voice that sounded so sincere. "Take my hand. It's the least I could do for an apology."

Sinead let her palm land onto his, and, at this, the gentleman smiled. He pulled her up to her feet and the Starling could only dust off the dirt from her uniform.

"Well. Thanks. I should be going now," she said, and started to walk around him to proceed her previous prancing. But then his deep voice stopped her.

"Wait. Wait!"

Sinead stopped. She turned around to look at him, giving him the chance to speak.

"I…my name," stuttered the gentleman. "My name is…Marvin Speede." He looked into her eyes and smiled. "May I know yours?"

Sinead wasn't an idiot. She knew she shouldn't be giving personal information to a complete and utter stranger.

But her mouth moved nonetheless.

"I'm Sinead Starling." She didn't know why, but she actually smiled as the words rolled off her tongue like honey, and tasting just as sweet. It was probably because it had been such a long time that she had to introduce herself to a new friend—someone who didn't look at your past and judged you because of it. She'd almost forgotten what that felt like. "Nice to meet you, Marvin."

"So, er…where are you headed?" Marvin asked conversationally, hoping to spark up something to begin talking about.

Sinead looked away. "Nowhere, really."

Marvin seemed to think about this for a moment, his dark, intense eyes glazing as he worked his mind for an idea. Then, as if a light bulb was suddenly switched on—

"Ah, I know! Let's go to the Cahill Library. How does that sound?"

All other instincts of Sinead screamed at her not to go with him, her sense of paranoia and mistrust of people impertinently ringing inside her ear. But this time, she was hypnotized. She desperately wanted someone to talk with, to vent her frustrations to, to just tell and release what she felt and had been keeping inside of her for a long time now, and now that she had the chance, that desire gnawed at her stomach even fiercer than usual. It had been such a long time since she actually had a normal, natural conversation with someone else, no insults, no sarcastic remarks, just casual chatting. With her brothers gone to Tel Aviv and her studying here in Ireland, she been alone all that time.

She was lonely.

"Sure, Marvin," said Sinead, and actually smiled. Everyone said that they were jealous of Sinead's intellect, but they didn't know how hard it is to put up with all the idiots in the world. But Marvin Speede, hmm? It was someone who didn't sound like an idiot for once. His eyes were dark and she could already tell the vast amount of intellect from behind them, the crease lines on his forehead that only deep thinkers in this world could obtain. Who would have thought? "Let's go to the Cahill Library, then. The Cahill Library sounds good."

* * *

Back at the conference room, Grace was still orienting the six remaining students about the grading system that the school had prepared especially for the Elite Seven. The pictures flashed before Jonah's eyes glumly, and he felt like he was going to cry tears of boredom any time soon.

But, other than complete and utter silence, (except for Grace's orienting voice), there was something else that had been injected into the room like a virus. Tension. Yes, there was tension. Every single student present over here weren't even looking at each other, tersely looking at the images that the projector emitted before them. They didn't even _greet_ him, for crying out loud, as if he wasn't the international rock phenomenon that every girl in the whole world would die for his autograph. Grace was the only one of them who acknowledged him with a, 'Well, if it isn't Jonah Wizard. I see you are running the "fashionably late" tactic, aren't you?'

Impossible. The peeps around here were just so impossible. Jonah knew he'd missed something important here—something happened with that Ekat girl he'd just bumped into when he first entered the conference room. Something must have happened. Something serious enough that didn't make the peeps here go nuts when they saw him, _him_ , of all people, Jonah Wizard, enter the room.

Ugh. He made a mental note not to run late to school again. All this wondering was making his head hurt.

"Hey," he whispered to the nearest person beside him, that girl Kabra who had her nails painted red. Jonah made another mental note not to get anywhere near to those nails. "Hey, yo, could you tell me what that dudette's name was?"

Natalie gave him a blank stare. "Pardon me? I couldn't quite comprehend. You seem to have your language up in a twist."

Jonah could've sweat-dropped like a cartoon character at that. The girl's accent was a refined British and she used complicated words. Sigh. Not really Jonah's area of expertise. For him, formal speaking was like speaking a whole new language altogether.

"That girl. Dudette. Dudette means girl. The one who just walked out? _Comprendo?_ What was her name again?"

"Sinead Starling. Now stop pestering me, American."

Jonah sat back at his chair as he absorbed that knowledge. Sinead Starling. The girl's name. Pretty. Her name sounded…pretty good. And, being a Janus, a live, singing instrument of music himself, he knew what music sounded good once he heard it.

* * *

Sinead and her companion were quietly laughing over a physics joke that Marvin had made. They sat at a table for two in the library, their books lying open on the table, but they weren't really reading anything. They had been talking and getting to know each other for a while now, and Sinead somehow felt a little better relaxing for even just a bit. She'd just known that Marvin was a Lucian and worked for Isabel Kabra, _the_ Isabel Kabra, as her personal secretary. That was something to be impressed of, because Marvin was only twenty-three years old.

Then, when the laughter died down, he said, "Hey."

"Hmm?"

Marvin leaned over the table talk to her even more closely, as if he was sharing with her a personal secret that only the two of them could ever know. "You are a Katerina, right? Does that mean…does that mean you can hack through a complicated security system?"

Of course she noticed that he'd mistaken _Ekaterina_ to be _Katerina_ , but Sinead didn't pay that much attention to that minor mistake, anyway. Also, Marvin had already consumed too much of her mind space to think about that insignificant little thing.

"No. Being an Ekat does not mean I can hack."

Marvin logically read the between the lines and smirked. "Ah. I see. Not all Ekats can hack, but you can."

Sinead was impressed. "You are a sharp one, Marvin. Yes, I can hack a few systems here and there. Why?"

"Are you sure you can? Can you break through even the most difficult ones?"

"Didn't I already say?" replied the Starling. "Yes, I can hack through any complicated system you'd throw at me. Bring it on."

"Very well, then. Would you do me a favour?"

"Sure," Sinead shrugged, but inwardly she let some suspicions rise up like walls. It was her paranoia working on her. After all, a stranger had just randomly asked if she was a hacker, and then requesting for her to do something for him. There might be a catch, this might be a trap. "What kind of favour?"

Marvin smiled. "How about you do some hacking and show me some of your skills?"

"What do you want as our test subject?"

Marvin thought for a second. Then—

"The Cahill Library." He lowered his voice an octave as a charming, mischievous smirk graced his features. "Let's hack this library. But only if you want to of course, I'm not forcing you. How's that sound?"

Sinead gave this some thought, and was quick to come to a decision. Hacking the Cahill Library? Seems innocently harmless enough. "Okay then. Let's hack the Cahill Library. Sounds good."

Unlike Jonah, however, Sinead was not an expert on determining what sounds good or not.

* * *

It was several minutes later when Sinead decided that it was probably best if she returned to the conference room again. She hadn't really meant to walk out in the first place, but she hadn't been able to control herself at that time—that dolt Hamilton was as irritating as a rash and it was difficult to bear with him, just as an itch on the skin is. But unlike then, right now she was refreshed. Anew. It was a good thing she had decided to walk out and clear her head a bit. Her frustration had dropped a significant notch, and it felt good to be weightless again, without that sense of aggravation at everything else that pulled her down like gravity.

Being with Marvin, even for just a few minutes, had helped to make her feel even just a little bit better. They had done a bit of hacking to the Cahill Library database, and Marvin was impressed enough of her skills and how coolly she did it, without even breaking a single bead of sweat or a crease of a stressed wrinkle. It was a harmless enough job, nothing to worry about, and Sinead had to admit that it felt good showing to other people what she was made of—nerves of platinum wires making up the mainframe of her intellect, with only a few keystrokes from her lightning fingers worthy of an international concert pianist. She felt good, her anger against that stupid Holt momentarily forgotten, at the very least. She guessed she should say her thanks to Marvin when they meet again.

When Sinead re-entered the conference room with a twist of the knob and the push of the door, she was immediately greeted by a steer of heads and a gasp from Amy.

"Sinead!" said the good-hearted Madrigal, who shot out from her chair once she saw that it was her friend. Well. Former friend. "Are you all right, Sinead? Where have you been?"

"Somewhere that doesn't concern you," replied the Ekat mechanically, derision spieling off her tongue like it was already embedded into her as an instinct. "Don't ask anymore."

Amy just slowly sank back into her chair, fists clenched, eyes on the floor, and nodded timidly. But as timidly as she looked like to everyone else, Sinead noticed that Amy's jaw was clenched.

Sinead looked at her derisively. Hm.

"Miss Starling!" exclaimed Grace Cahill, her green eyes following the Ekaterina's slim form as Sinead walked back to her chair as perfunctorily as she could. Grace had said a much longer string of words after that, to which Sinead only pretended to listen to, staring blankly into the olden woman's eyes and nodding automatically whenever Grace ended each statement with an 'Understood?'

"You should learn how the prospect of respect works, young lady," Grace was saying. "Respect begets respect, yes, we all know that, but we must _learn_ it. Understood?"

"Yes, Madame Cahill."

"And you must never, _never_ insult another classmate again. Understood?"

Sinead didn't answer immediately.

"I am talking to you, Sinead. Understood?"

Amy turned her head to her. "…Sinead? Are you okay?"

The Starling seemed to get out of a trance as she shot Amy a look, and then back at Grace. "Yes, Madame Cahill. I'm sorry."

But there was insincerity in it, because Sinead wasn't actually listening. Her mind was somewhere else. She noticed something strange. Out of place. It seemed as if she was the only one in the room who did. She blinked her eyes and twisted her head, looking around the room to see if something was wrong. But nothing _seemed_ to be wrong—not in the moment, no, so Sinead just decided to let it go, sitting back in her chair to relax her muscles that she hadn't even realized were tense.

"—and that you should be sensitive in dealing with others. Miss Starling, did you hear what I was saying? Are we understood?"

"Yes, Madame Cahill."

Grace just continued to go on in a scolding tone. "If you want to be respected, respect others, Miss Starling. That is the golden rule."

No. Definitely not her imagination. It made everything around her mute as her eyes widened with realization. It was very faint, very, very faint, in fact, that it seemed as if she was the only who could smell it, but still—

It was there. The smell.

"I asked you, Miss Starling. Are we understood?"

"No." Sinead stood up from her chair urgently, grabbing the attention of everyone else. Grace was thoroughly vexed at this unexpected response, completely oblivious of the Ekaterina's distress, as she put on a stern face. "Miss Starling, what do you think are you—"

"Everyone," said Sinead, suddenly seeming to forget her anger against the world. "Do you smell…"

"I thought I was the only one who noticed," mumbled Dan, whose eyes were starting to widen in horror. It was a trigger. Memories swirled from within him, where the calming scent of grass and citrus clashed against the rage of fire, roaring, drowning out a young three-year-old's hysterical wailing. Dan yanked himself out into reality by standing up from his chair to declare his pronouncement. "Everyone! Don't you notice it too?"

"D-Dan?" inquired Amy, as she anxiously put a hand onto her brother's shoulder. She could tell that something was seriously bothering him, because the usual light in his eyes drained to empty it out, then filling it with a haunting memory. "Is something wrong or…"

He didn't need to answer that. Because, it was just then when Amy, including everyone else, had started to notice that the air had become a little…hazier than normal. Noise started to rise, panic was slowly brewing like tea in a pot—but instead of jasmine, it smelled like…

The air smelled like something very familiar, making Amy and Dan exchange knowing, fear-stricken glances.

It smelled like fire.

An alarmed janitor suddenly burst through the door. From behind him, grey smoke was all around, the orange light of fire illuminating his ragged face and making it all seem more ominous, if it already wasn't.

"Get out!" he said, his voice strangled and choked. "All of you! Get out! Get out of here _now!"_

"What are you talking about?" Grace started, but then the janitor already disappeared from the doorway and off to the hall, probably to the room next to theirs, to bear the same message. It was then when Grace heard the screams from below, and she leaned out to see through the window to see people from downstairs already scrambling for their lives out of the manor, running across the grass, all the while whipping out their phones to call the firemen and shouting for people still inside the mansion to get out already. She could only blink her surprise. How on earth did a fire…

"Amy!"

"Dan!"

Grace turned her eyes to see her grandchildren entwine their hands together as they nodded at each other. The sight of them together made Grace return her resolve. Yes, figuring out how the fire started was an important, corporate matter, but Amy and Dan were right, of course, it is more important that they had to get out of here. Together.

But most importantly, alive.

"Grace!" said Amy and Dan as they walked up to her. "We need to—"

"—get out of here fast," the grandmother finished, determinedly. She closed her eyes for a second and opened them again. "Alright. Everybody, do not panic. We're in this together. We need to—"

"What, sing 'Best Friends Forever' like a stupid high school musical?" Sinead scoffed as she stood up, her backpack half-slung onto her shoulder, where she ripped open the zipper to fiddle around for something inside. "Be my guest. But I'm getting out of here. Every woman for herself."

"Oh, come on, Sinead," Jonah said as he stood up as well. "We're all friends here, aren't we? And what's so bad about us being a high school musical? I'm actually looking forward to playwriting a school play one day…"

"Dream on, man," laughed Hamilton from the background, bitterly. "That girl doesn't care about anyone in the world but herself."

Sinead swallowed down an onslaught of angry words. There were more important things to be dealt with here, her life for example. So instead, she said, "I work alone. Solo. I'm going to get out of here myself." But then she paused, now finally seeming that something was wrong. She now peered inside her backpack. "Wait. Why can't I find my…"

"Ah, so you have been looking for this?" said a voice, and everyone turned their heads to see Ian beside the window, his arm coiled protectively around Natalie, who smirked with her head held triumphantly high. Ian had in his other hand a grappling hook, mockingly spinning it in the air to aggravate a shocked Sinead. "We sincerely apologize for leaving the lot of you here," said the Kabra, opening the windows and tightly shooting the hook of the grappler onto the wall, "but Natalie and I would be late for tea with the Queen this afternoon if we don't hurry. And we wouldn't want to disappoint her, would we, since Her Majesty has come all the way from London. Come, Natalie."

Natalie blew them all a farewell kiss as she held on to her brother. "Ta-ta, losers!"

Then Ian and Natalie swung themselves over the fifth-floor window and disappeared right down, with the rope holding the sibling pair alive.

"You…you snakes! Cheaters!" Sinead finally burst when she realized what was happening, and she ran across the room in an attempt to snatch her grappling hook from the flagitious pair of Lucian thieves, or _cut it_ , to at least have that feeling of satisfaction at seeing the both of their guts splattered all over the Cahill grounds. She looked down over the window to see Ian holding Natalie, a hand tightly on the rope, gently sliding himself down to get the both of them on the ground slowly but surely. The sight of the two of them annoyed her. Sinead clenched her fists. Yes. She dared to do this. They only deserved just as much.

Pulling out a multipurpose knife from her pocket, she lifted it high up in the air, then brought it down, the wind rushing through the blade of her knife _fast_ —

"Sinead, you moron!" shouted Hamilton, whose words mismatched with the worry in his tone. "Look out!"

Sinead hadn't a chance to realize what on Earth that idiotic Tomas was blathering about, because by the time she turned her head to face him, he crashed against her and dragged her with him all across the room, his weight and impact multiplying into the pain that exploded in her when her back crashed onto the floor with a severe blow. The knife flew away from her reach, and when she looked beyond Hamilton's shoulder, she heard an ominous creak from the ceiling, and it crashed against the floor, just right where she had been mere nanoseconds ago, dooming the room with the spread of the crackling red-orange fire.

Sinead gulped as realization dawned onto her. If she hadn't been pushed out of the way, she would've been burning like a hyena thrown in an inferno, probably even reduced to ashes right now. But no. Here she was, still breathing, in her eyes reflected the fire that could have very well had just killed her. She took one look at the Tomas sprawled all over her, and immediately felt…

Thankful?

"Get off of me," Sinead grumbled, more to herself, really, her words barely audible against the roars of the fast-spreading wildfire surrounding her. She couldn't even look at Hamilton in the eye. Why did this Dolt have to save her and make her feel guilty about everything? Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"Gee," said the Tomas, rolling his eyes as he slowly got himself up, groaning a bit with effort. "You're welcome. Now let's get out of here before we get barbecued by this one hell of a mansion." Hamilton paused at that, realizing that he had just unconsciously made a pun. "One hell of a mansion," he repeated, chuckling gently. "Hah. Aren't I clever?"

Sinead stared at him blankly. "Am I supposed to laugh at that?"

"What?" he asked.

Sinead sighed. "Just get off!"

Hamilton rolled his eyes, grabbed Sinead by the waist, and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of rice, all the while ignoring her screams and thrashing around and demands to be put down. But of course she was no match against Hamilton, and this fact brought utter horror upon Sinead which shall haunt her for all of eternity.

Hamilton blew a strand of hair from his eyes with the air puffed in his cheeks as he ran down the hall with her screaming insults following him like a barrage of gun shots.

"Oy, Sinead, I'm saving both our lives here! Couldn't you atleastbe grateful?"

Meanwhile, Amy, Dan, Jonah and Grace were running down the hallways. Amy looked back and was relieved that Hamilton had grabbed Sinead and were now catching up with them, as were her orders. But the small relief was overcome by something else more horrible. A sick feeling was brewing in Amy's stomach, and as she led the four of them down through the mansion, she felt the heat of the fire, the black smoke, seeping through her bones and choking her from the inside. Her ears were filled with nothing but the sound of the crackling flames, the groaning ceilings that didn't help to cease the tightening of her chest, with the fear that she and her companions are going to get trampled down and smothered into ashes anytime soon now. She had put a hand over her mouth, but that didn't stop the coughs from threatening to rack her body and squeeze her lungs to render her useless, with all the smoke going around and all the running that her legs had been doing. But worse…

She looked back at Dan, who was wheezing into his inhaler, his face absolutely red, eyes misty with moist that might as well have been tears. He had asthma and should be resting right now, but no matter how much Amy wanted to, she couldn't tell him to stop and take a breath. They needed to keep going. Thankfully, though, he was being guided by Jonah, who was shouting 'We're almost there, buddy! Just hold on!' in an attempt to keep Dan's panicking resolve firm and for no one to start breaking down right then and there. No, the last thing anyone needed over here was anyone breaking down. Jonah's words, no, _voice_ , was like magic; at least it kept Amy staring ahead and motivated to live on, and it seemed the same for Dan. She was even able to manage a small smile at that thought, despite what was going on.

The smile disappeared altogether, though, when she passed by a window and saw a glimpse of her lifelong rival, that slimy Kabra, and his just-as-equally slimy sister. Ian and Natalie, with a final pair of twin triumphant smirks, had reached the ground, and they sped across the grassy plain and away from the manor, like they had no other care about the world but themselves. Rats. Those filthy little rats!

"Come on, Amy, let's go! We can beat those cowardly Kabras!"

Amy shook her head immediately and forced herself to focus on the situation that she was stuck into. Jonah was right. What did she care about those Kabras? She had to get out of here.

The elevators, of course, were out of option, so they had to speed down the stairs, whether they liked it or not. The arduous task of forcing themselves to run when it was difficult to even breathe was most definitely pulling the energy left in their already battered and exhausted bodies, but what other choice did they have? At last they reached the ground floor, but the red carpet, alight with orange flames, was littered with large pieces of burning wood that had fallen from the ceiling; and the furniture, they were destroyed and would be nothing more than ashes later; and the chandelier, it was transformed from a beautiful piece of Waterford art to shattered shards on the floor, glittering across the tiles like little orange embers that could burn the skin upon a touch.

The smoke was getting thicker, as well, and it was near zero visibility for the four of them as Amy led them on. Amy was slowly losing her consciousness and could feel her heart slow down, and even as she fought against her mind, her body was ordering itself to shut down. Her senses were starting to get muddled, her hearing turning into a mute ringing, her eyes distorting, blurring everything away, but she did feel herself raise up her hand and reach for the light of the door, the only source of illuminance in the darkness that was slowly, slowly consuming her sight.

"M-Mom…Dad…!"

 _What did she say?_ Dan thought, although he very well knew what she had just said. Despite his own difficulty in breathing and just about every bodily function that ever existed, Dan yanked himself out of Jonah's hold and ignored the Wizard's screams to come back to him. Dan ran ahead to his sister and put an arm around her to keep her alive and moving forward. Coughs racked her body and he knew how hard that felt, he knew he'd been through worse bouts of coughs, but he had to be strong for her. Courtesy to asthma, he was so red in the face that he didn't even know if he can still live to see the sunrise of next day, but Amy here, no matter how annoying of a sister she was, was more important to him than his very own self. He can't lose her. He can't.

_If I lose her…if I…_

Dan shut the words out. Don't even think about it.

"Oh, don't be such a chicken! Pull yourself together, Amy!" Dan said, hooking an arm into hers to keep her walking forward. Yes, forward, towards the door where the light was coming from, and no matter what, don't look back. _Don't_ look back. The light at the end of the dark long tunnel was near, and all they had to do was run, don't even stop for an intake of breath, just run, and run, and run, and run, don't look back, and _run_ —

"This is it, everybody! We're going to make it! We're going to make it! We're going to…"

And out five Elites burst through the door, where they collapsed into the hands of the friendly firemen, lost into blackness as reality was knocked out of their consciousness.

No one noticed that Grace was not with them.

* * *

A black-clad man watched all of this play out from a distant hill. A chuckle escaped his lips as he watched the kids get dragged away in an ambulance, the pathetic firemen spraying shoots of water from their little hoses. He looked at the mansion, then smirked. Something once glorious now reduced to ashes.

How pitiful.

The first phase of the plan had gone smoothly, a swift chess move where the black rook had taken the white's unfortunate bishop. Oh, the glory! He couldn't _wait_ to announce checkmate already—it was his favourite part of any game, when he would have to watch his pathetic opponent desperately trying to protect his remaining king against his army of knights, horses, and queened pawns. It was just as his brilliant Mistress had told him. But of course, checkmate still would have to wait. His Mistress's master plan still had many phases left for him to execute, a few pawns to sacrifice here and there before the king is snatched away from the enemy.

Off to work, then. He had no time to waste. Time for the second phase. He fled with a thick, old brown book in hand, his black cape billowing from behind him to camouflage him with the darkness where he worked and lived for.

Indeed, Mistress Isabel is going to be so pleased.


	4. Gathering Ashes

Ian Kabra stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of his room in his silken nightclothes. He had a splendid view before him. His room overlooked a garden of dewed red chrysanthemums among emerald leaves swaying in the soft breeze, the mini-fountain of a stone Valkyrie with a lyre displaying waterworks that rippled the water on the small, artificial lake, where the silver light of the moon reflected back to him in a distorted fuzz. Nothing less from the Kabra Manor, even if the Wexford-version was definitely smaller and a bit less ostentatious than the grand one they had in London. The scene was peaceful, yes it was, but even if it was already half an hour past midnight, and the day had been exhausting enough to drain him of every drop of energy he had left, he couldn't bring himself to sleep. Being on the land of the Irishmen, he thought that maybe summoning for sleep leprechauns would help, but after a microsecond passed he mentally slapped himself for even thinking of something so stupid.

He held his forehead miserably with two fingers as a dull yet heavy pain throbbed in it. It must be sleep-deprivation. Sleep-deprivation and that little brat of a nuisance named conscience. Yes, there was his supposed-to-be non-existent _conscience_ , he himself couldn't even believe it, continually pestering him with the sting of utter stupidities, causing him to think of things that were so...FLO, just as his father had always used to tell him.

For Losers Only.

 _What I did earlier…_ he asked himself, staring at the reflection of the moon down on the lake water. _It was the correct thing to do, was it not?_

It was what Mother or Father would have done, themselves. As a matter of fact, his mother even _praised_ him for the treachery that he had done. Ian had just played a little trick of thievery against Sinead Starling, used the stolen grappling hook to save his and his sister's lives, and got out of there as fast as he could. It was the right thing to do, to save oneself. Anyone else would do it. Ian Kabra just did it the better way. The _professional_ way. It was the right thing to do. Correct?

Yes. Of course he was correct.

And yet he felt he wasn't.

He closed his eyes and faced the ceiling, limply hanging his head with a blow of air from out of his cheeks. He was getting frustrated in himself. He was going around and around in circles and yet he was getting absolutely nowhere. The principles of the Kabra family were a legacy, according to Papa, passed down from generation to generation since it had been established by the Brahmin Lord Vikramaditya Kabra from their family's very genesis. Never before had Ian doubted his family's glorious principles. And yet here he was, berating himself for having stolen that Starling's grappling hook. Such a little crime not even worthy of thought, but here he was, losing his precious dose of sleep because of it. Because of a little grappling hook.

 _No_ , he stopped himself. _No, the grappling hook is not the cause of your misery._

What, then?

_The cause of your misery is the fact that you have left everyone else, including Amy, to die in the burning mansion._

_You left them to die._

"Ah, stop it," he mumbled to himself, pounding a fist onto his forehead. He was being tedious. He needed to calm down. He was acting like a nobleman below English peerage, unworthy of the Lucian pride. He had to stop acting like a conscience-driven softie and actually start living out his name—Ian Kabra, noble heir of the Kabra family.

Thankfully, there was suddenly a knock on the door to yank him out of his thoughts. Ian raised his head, straightened his back, and faced the floor-to-ceiling window.

The door opened with a creak, and in stepped an old butler in a black tailcoat. Bickerduff held a candelabrum in one hand and the orange flames on the candles emphasized the sincere worry that was etched into the gentleman's face.

"Master, you summoned me?"

Ian didn't have to turn around to know that it was Bickerduff. "Yes."

"For whatever reason, master?"

Ian stared straight ahead through the glass window and let many seconds of quiet pass by, ever slowly. Then, breaking through the silence, he spoke once again, albeit hesitantly.

"Are you…are you sure about what you told me? You've checked that they are alright?"

Bickerduff bowed, ever the loyal servant, even though Ian's back was turned to him. He had been summoned to his master's room for four times this night already, and no matter how Bickerduff said it, the boy just didn't seem to be anywhere near pacified. It was an unusual sight for the butler, to say the least, to see the great Ian Kabra driven awake by conscience and felled by obsessive-compulsive behaviour.

"Yes, master. It is as I have said. They are in the hospital, and are all alive. Please do not worry anymore, and retire to bed, young sir."

"And Grace?" prodded Ian, who wouldn't be comforted. Well. Ian couldn't care less about Grace, but she was a special person to Amy and Dan. And anyone special to Amy was…

"Yes, master." Bickerduff had to supress an exhausted sigh. He had said these very same words to Master Ian for a handful of times already. "It had turned out to be a miracle. Everyone thought for a moment that Madame was dead and not coming out of the flames, but eventually a fireman was able to rescue her. It turned out that Madame Grace had gone back into the burning mansion alone to save someone called Saladin, without anyone realizing that she had gone inside unaccompanied. Rest assured, Madame Grace has already been released from the hospital a mere few hours ago, as had everyone else. All unharmed."

That piqued Ian's interest. He turned to look at his butler with a curious eye. "Grace saved someone named…Saladin? You didn't mention any Saladin earlier."

"Ah, I must have forgotten to mention. Forgive me, master, but I know not who this Saladin is. I am merely relaying the information I have obtained from my source."

Ian tapped his chin. "Now, now…when have I last heard that name before?" It sparked at the very back of his brain, but the more Ian tried to reach for it, the more it succeeded to slip out of his grasp. It was frustrating, really.

"Might you be thinking of Salah-ad-Din Yusuf, master?" offered the butler after several moments.

Ian mulled this for a moment, but easily then gave up and sighed. He was sure he had heard of this… _Saladin_ before, but no picture of a face came in mind. But anyway. It didn't matter much, no. No need to bother himself.

"You are probably right, then, of course, Bickerduff. Salah-ah-Din Yusuf, Syrian sultan in the tenth century." Then he perked up once more. "Oh, and the hospital bills?"

"I have paid for them all as an anonymous donation, as you have commanded, Master."

"Very good."

There was silence for a long while between master and servant after that.

"…Master."

"Yes?"

"Do you need any more of my assistance or reassurance?"

"No," Ian said absentmindedly, distant eyes glued up on the high silver moon. "You are dismissed."

"May it please my master…"

"Fine," said Ian, still not bothering to take the effort to turn around and give his personal butler even the littlest of glances. "You are given permission to speak."

 _So formal_ , Bickerduff thought with an incredulous quirk of an eyebrow. Nothing less from the Kabra heir. The butler took the permission at its best.

"With all due respect, master," he said, bowing low, "I believe you have forgotten your own creed. 'Please do not deprive yourself of sleep merely because of unfounded reasons.' You've repeatedly told those very same words to Mistress Natalie yourself, when the young lady refused to sleep because of thinking about…" Bickerduff debated whether he should say the name or not, but in the end decided that he should. "…Master Duncan Wittenberg."

Ian scoffed. Wittenberg, that imbecile. But Wittenberg wasn't the matter at the moment. "Natalie's love life is not what I am concerned here, Bickerduff," he said, voicing out his very thoughts. "It's people's _lives_ that I am concerned here."

Bickerduff smiled gently at him, even though he knew his master wouldn't see him. "You make quite a fetching picture, master, being thoroughly bested by your own conscience."

This caught Ian like a fly in a spider web. "What?" he spluttered. " _Conscience?_ I am not an insipid Lucian, Bickerduff. I don't have a conscience. I am merely…concerned."

"So you say." The butler smiled, then headed for the door, holding the knob to close it. "Please get a few hours of sleep; you have four to five more until breakfast. Good night, master."

Since Bickerduff didn't expect a 'good night to you, too' from his master, he didn't bother waiting for a response. After all, a servant is never even worthy of looking at his master in the eyes; he had to be honoured and thankful that he had a master who even bothered to exchange even just a few words with him. The butler was just about to close the door when he—

"Wait." Ian tilted his head slightly to the side, giving the butler the tiniest glimpse of his young master's glinting amber eyes. "Bickerduff?"

"Yes, master?"

"I am going to give you an order. " Ian stood tall, but Bickerduff could hear in his young master's voice the waver of trepidation. "Don't tell anyone, especially Mother, that I exchanged a word with you concerning my fellow Elites' safety. Mother will…think of it as weakness." Ian shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal, even though it was. "Am I understood?"

Bickerduff bowed, but not without a smile. "Of course, master." Then, without another word, he left.

It was then when the door closed when Ian finally turned around to look at the spot where Bickerduff had been, mere seconds ago. If he needed loyalty, he was proud to say that he already had the greatest in all of the United Kingdom. Bickerduff was a servant, yes, but he'd been his butler ever since he'd been born, and, quite frankly, he had been around him even more than his parents had ever been in his entire life. If there was one person in the world with whom he could entrust himself with, it was Bickerduff, though highly unlikely for people to believe this so easily. After all, he was the master and his butler the servant.

Ian let a smile creep into his face, something he only sincerely did when he thought that no one was watching. No. Bickerduff was not just a servant.

"…thank you, old friend."

* * *

_Next day…_

Once the snake reached her line of vision, Sinead Starling's fist hit Ian Kabra right in the abdominal plexus celiacus.

Or so she thought.

She gasped when she looked up to see him—when, instead of gasping his last breaths of death and pleading for his life, he was actually… _smirking_ down at her.

"Sinead Starling, Elite's Rank Third. We're having a cheery morning, aren't we?" said Ian, the fingers of his hand coiling tightly around Sinead's fist, which he had seen coming right at him once he set foot on the university grounds. The gathered students around them gasped their amazement at the sight of the two Elites, standing before each other, the Ekaterina having attempted to launch a punch against the Lucian which the latter had only deflected without even seeming to have exerted the tiniest drop of effort. Truly amazing—nothing less from the Elite Seven's top student. Sinead scoffed and yanked away her fist from his hold.

"I was just testing you," she said, eyes closed defiantly with her hands on her hips.

"Of course you were," said Ian, casually dusting away a speck of imaginary dust on the pristine white polo shirt of his Elite uniform. "Because if you hit me for real, then you would be charged with a major offence, which could take away your Elite status and even scholarship, then devastate your measly budget, because you are a mere peasant. You should be thanking me. I saved you from the Principal's Office and suspension. But with, ah, last night's incident, you could consider us even. You're welcome."

She turned around and stomped away from him, all the while muttering 'That slimy thief' over and over again under her breath. She was still moody about the grappling hook yesterday.

"Wait, Starling?" halted Ian. "Where are you going?"

"The MadriGreen Conservatory, obviously," she hissed. "Grace said we'll meet there, oh, since, I don't know, the main manor had just burst into flames _yesterday_ , in case you've forgotten, so we couldn't continue the conference there."

So many words for only one question. How tedious. "MadriGreen Conservatory, you say?" He casually pointed a finger to the right. "It's that way."

Sinead blinked and let that sink in. When it did, she rolled her eyes and turned to the right to proceed to the said venue, all the while ignoring the Kabras' triumphant stares.

"Tell me, brother dear," muttered Natalie beside him when they were finally left alone. "How did you know Sinead was going to punch you? _I_ wouldn't have seen it coming."

"I anticipated it, Natalie," Ian explained, clapping his hands against each other once then clasping them together. "After what we had done yesterday…"

"What?" Natalie gasped, her mouth wide open behind her delicate, porcelain-like fingers. "Is that your conscience I hear speaking? What have you become, Ian? Don't tell me…"

The boy could have groaned, but of course he did not, and because he had to maintain patience and nobility in front of the public, he was forced to suppress his exasperation. "How many times do I have to tell people?" he grumbled. "I don't have conscience. I'm just concerned. I'm sure that even _you_ could tell the difference."

Natalie's expression hardened. "You didn't answer my question, Ian." She averted her gaze down on her hands, watching her red-nailed fingers play with themselves. "How did you know Sinead was going to punch you?" An emotion descended on her voice, and Ian's forehead wrinkled as he tried to figure out where his sister planned to bring this conversation to. No such luck. "Because, honestly. You are not a 1990s comic book hero. No one could just deflect an incoming punch with their eyes literally closed."

The older brother shrugged. "It's my natural talent of deduction."

Natalie turned her head away. "You do everything so effortlessly."

He could have sworn that he heard the tiniest drip of envy seep into her words, making it his turn to arch an incredulous eyebrow.

"Don't tell me, Natalie," he started, looking over at her with an amused expression on his face. "Are you openly showing your amazement to me?"

" _What?_ " huffed the girl. "Ridiculous!"

"You didn't answer my question," he pointed out, matter-of-factly. Well. He was just feeding her her own medicine. "Have you just openly showed me amazement?"

"No," she said, the word tasting like bile in her tongue. "I was not _amazed_ at you, per se. That's too much. I was just curious. Of how you did it."

Ian turned his head to the blue sky. "Of course."

Then, after that, brother and sister, both unknowingly inflicted by an irrational fear of each other finding out their secrets, walked side-by-side towards MadriGreen Conservatory, the Elite Seven's special classroom. They were able to reach the place eventually, which was hidden in bushes and tall trees, far away from the main buildings of the university grounds. It was a dome-shaped structure that stood high up against the sun, made up of glass walls that were tinted with a cool green colour. Ian and Natalie tried to peer inside, and what they saw was numerous ferns and ornamentals that would soon become a part of their daily lives of going to school. Well, this greenhouse was the Elite Seven's special classroom, after all. It had been built upon Grace Cahill's request years ago, which she had dutifully named as MadriGreen, still standing today as a simple yet elegant work of art—even the Kabras had to admit. But when the pair pulled their attention away from what was through the MadriGreen's viridian glass walls, they found then that the greenhouse was locked.

"No choice but to wait for the others, then," Natalie said, crossing her arms over her chest. Ian didn't say anything in reply, and just stood there to wait as his sister had said.

But then, they were forced to look back simultaneously. It was because of a bloodcurdling scream that suddenly slashed through the air, and their eyes widened at the sight quickly advancing towards them—running, running as if from the Grim Reaper himself—

"Someone! Anyone! HELP ME!"

* * *

After having been greeted by endless 'Good morning!'s from the persistent regular students, Amy and Dan Cahill had finally managed to pull themselves away from their fellow Madrigals. It would not have been easy hadn't it been for the help of Jonah Wizard, who attracted all of them easily and seemingly mesmerized each and every one of them with a lullaby. He easily made them obey his 'orders', which was that they walk back to their classrooms peacefully because the bell could ring anytime soon. Being the fangirls they all were, the Madrigals and some occasional Januses fell for the celebrity and worked to please him by immediately gathering themselves and racing towards their classrooms.

"Honestly…" mumbled Jonah under his breath, shaking his head after it was all over. "I mean, I love their love, but I'm just a student like them today."

Amy was amazed that Jonah Wizard possessed humble thoughts such as this. From all the TV commercials and concert posters and news articles that she saw, she figured that Jonah, a well-known Janus in the Cahill world, would be just as pompous and self-obsessed as Ian Kabra most definitely was. She was glad that she was wrong.

"I know, right?" she said, walking beside the Wizard with her brother's arm hooked into hers so she could drag him with her to make sure he didn't break anything fragile. Amy smiled up at her newfound companion. She could tell she was going to like Jonah Wizard. "Tell me about it."

"Kyuck. _Amyyy!_ " whined Dan from the background, trying to pull himself away from his sister's hold. "Don't touch me! I'm NOT a _baby_ anymore!"

Jonah laughed—it was a happy sound. "Hey, your little bro's trying to get away."

"Oh, no, you don't, you dweeb," Amy seethed, pulling him to her even as he tried to get away like a desperate dog from a leash. "I don't want you running around and getting yourself lost."

"What? Getting myself _lost?_ What am I, a baby? NOOO! Let—me—go!" said Dan, trying to pry himself away from Amy's tightening hold. Like, what's her deal? Geez, it's not like he's going to blow up anything! (Maybe.) "Let me go or—or I'll spill all your diaries' secrets!"

That got Amy frozen.

"…what?" she asked, her voice suddenly murderous as it dropped to a dangerous octave.

Dan gulped. Uh-oh. He wasn't supposed to reveal the espionage work he'd been doing to Amy's diary lately just yet.

That was when he started to run away from her. "Waaah!"

"Hey, wait! Don't leave me alone! _Duuudes!_ " was all Jonah Wizard could shout as he ran after them. "I don't know where the MadriGreen is!"

Dan just kept on running across the grass, shouting, "Someone! Anyone! HELP ME!"

* * *

Hamilton Holt was slowly starting to learn that Sinead Starling was _not_ someone to be trifled with.

He was running for his life, he realized, when he looked behind him to see the Ekat's fingers gripping tightly onto the straps of her own schoolbag, and looking like she was just as ready as a demolition expert to throw the wrecking ball smack dab in the middle of his skull.

"I'll get you for that, Dolt! Mark my words!" she was saying as her feet continuously fell onto the grass, although the Tomas was too busy fearing for his life to bother comprehending. "I'll get you for that!"

What was it again this time, you ask? Hamilton himself didn't know what he just did. But he sure got Sinead angry pretty easily. All he knew was that he came to school in peace, perfectly harmless and weaponless, saw Sinead walking alone, approached her, said sorry for yesterday, then commented on her uniform with a whistle, all the while complimenting her on how good she looked, in hopes that he could ease the tension between the two of them. That was it. He couldn't remember anything else that he had done this morning which could have been the cause of her acting like…

He looked back to see those murderous pair of green eyes.

…this.

But looking back for just even a brief second was the greatest mistake he had ever done today. He didn't see that he was actually going to collide with someone else who was running, too, shouting, 'Someone! Anyone! HELP ME!' like mad—and by the time he turned his eyes back on the road, it was too late, because—

_Ka-pow!_

The way it happened was this: Dan, who was being chased by Amy, who was being chased by Jonah, crashed into Ian and Natalie, and Hamilton, who was being chased by Sinead, wasn't able to stop the momentum and joined the fray of limbs and sprawled bodies across the grassy ground. Amy, Jonah, and Sinead all weren't able to stop their momentums as well, and their body force thrust themselves forward to complete the alp of Elites, creating a cacophony of protests and shouts and groans. It was a mountainful of Cahill University's…

…future professional Cahill agents.

"Auurrrghhh!"

"H-H-Ham…h _…heavy_ …"

"Schweeet! Let's do it again! _Ninja-style!_ "

"MY _NAILS!"_

"Yargh! Your stupid face is getting in the way!"

"OW! Yo, Shtarbucks, zat wash my _nowsh_."

It was the first time ever since they'd met that the seven members of Cahill University's most prestigious élite group were 'one' for once. And Ian was at the bottom of the tower, not exactly feeling very pleased about being the base of the said tangled mess of arms and legs. Ugh. His pristine Elite uniform, ruined. His royally-made hair, destroyed. Outrageous. And what was that arcane, peculiar smell?

_Feet?_

"Get— _off_ of me—you savage—Neanderthals!" he groaned, struggling to get himself out of the kerfuffle. But he had no such luck, since his groaning classmates on top of him didn't seem to be in their proper senses at the moment.

What a great way to be 'one' with your classmates.

But just as he was trying to reach a hand out towards the grass in an attempt to do something about this mess, a shadow fell on their mini-mountain.

"Is this mound of _garbage_ supposed to be Cahill University's beacon of pride?"

They stopped struggling as all seven heads turned to look up, then gasped like little children caught stealing cookies. Uh-oh.

It was the Lucian Dean Isabel Kabra, and she did not look amused.

* * *

It turned out that Isabel Kabra was tasked by Grace Cahill to orient them further of the things they needed to be oriented with, since Grace had other matters to attend to. It went quick enough. After showing expressive disgust for all the members of the Elite Seven as they tried to scramble out of their small pyramid of limbs and bodies on the grass, they proceeded inside the MadriGreen Conservatory and sat around a rectangular mahogany table on a platform in the middle of their forest-like surroundings. Isabel talked mechanically, with occasional disgusted glances over at Ian and Natalie, who had their heads bowed down in mortification, embarrassed that their mother had to witness them being a part of earlier's incident. Nevertheless, she was like Grace—Isabel didn't make a special mention of her children in front of the Elites. She was just there to do her job, telling them about the school rules, their schedules in meeting their private mentors five times a week, and so on and forth.

Lunch time came with a university-wide bell ring, and they were dismissed from the morning. The Elites wordlessly grabbed their schoolbags and went on their separate ways, or by sibling pair, to wherever they chose to eat their lunches. It went on like this for every day until it became a habit for them all, after their tedious morning studies with their individual professors. Hamilton would usually proceed immediately to the Tomas Grounds of the university where he agreed to meet with his sisters so that they could eat their lunches together. Jonah was only one call away from his father who would immediately send for their limousine to take the pop star to the nearest fast-food chain. Sinead would walk alone to the cafeteria where she would spend her time between eating and reading about quantum physics. Ian and Natalie would be personally attended to by Bickerduff, who would pack fresh, exquisite lunches for his two masters along with a foldable table and chairs complete with velvety white tablecloths. Usually the Kabras ate their lunches just outside the conservatory, under the peaceful shade of the trees, eating as luxuriously as ever, complete with tea and dessert.

Amy, together with Dan, would immediately go to the Ekaterina Grounds and deliver Sammy Mourad's lunch to him. The boy was unusually shy and didn't originally like Nellie packing his lunches for him, but it slowly became a habit and Sammy eventually had no choice but to go with the flow. It was obvious that Nellie liked Sammy, but the Mourad boy only kept avoiding her every time, so that was why Nellie decided to only deliver the lunch she cooked for him through Amy. After all, being the natural-born cook she was, Nellie Gomez was a believer of the maxim that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. To tell the truth, Nellie and Sammy don't even personally know each other yet—it was just that Nellie had suddenly become obsessed with him at first sight and had been trying to gain his heart ever since. It was unfortunate that Sammy was always busy with his chemistry projects and had no time to meet up with her—either that or he was making it as an excuse not to meet her at all.

After the trip to Sammy, Amy and Dan would eat their lunches together somewhere in the Cahill park, where there were benches and tables and students of every branch who were free to have their afternoon picnics wherever they liked, on the grass or the benches. After an hour and a half at the strike of 1:00 pm, the Elite Seven would gather once again in the MadriGreen Conservatory to resume what they started during the morning. Days like this went on until, before they knew it, one week had passed and they were one day before the first aptitude exam of the year. It was more of a pre-exam, really, to determine the student's skill in his/her course.

But even as everyone else's time was devoted to studying, Amy was taking the effort to fiddle around her grandmother Grace's business. The Elite Seven, all regular students, and each university staff had been told not to worry anymore about the fire that had engulfed the Cahill Mansion that day. The Cahill Mansion was supposed to be the school's crowning glory, but now it only laid ashes. Amy simply could not let that go. She knew that Grace and the police already had the case in their hands, but after three days when no one still found out about anything, Amy grew impatient. She had to help to figure out who was behind the fire which had just almost killed her and Dan and Grace and her classmates, so after a little sneaking into Grace's office, she found a list of the inventory of items lost during the fire. It called her attention because it was tucked in a folder marked as 'Important'. It seemed as if everything was revived even though barely, but there was one particular item that stood out.

It said there on the report that the original manuscript of Richard Suess' _Poor Richard's Almanack_ is missing. Amy quirked an eyebrow at this, thinking, What's so special about that almanac? And why would Grace put this report on this folder labelled 'Important'?

It was at that precise moment when Grace suddenly emerged from the bathroom and caught Amy reading her files. Grace was furious at first, but her granddaughter's resolve reminded her so much of herself when she was younger that Grace somehow felt obliged to tell Amy some details to at least momentarily quench the young girl's thirst for information. Grace told Amy, and after that refused to say anymore and told her granddaughter to return back to mind her studies back in the MadriGreen. Amy felt like she had no choice so she obeyed, but her own curiosity just wouldn't stop nagging at her.

What was so important about _Poor Richard's Almanack?_ Who would want to steal an old and outdated book? Why did Grace seem to know, but didn't want to share the facts with her?

That day, she went to the MadriGreen and decided that she had to inform her fellow Elites of this new development that she had obtained. They were, after all, just as concerned in the Cahill Mansion fire a week ago just as she was. She barged into the greenhouse running, panting from the effort, and saw all of them quietly hunched over the rectangular table, books piled high beside each student. Ian's face was illuminated by the blue light of his laptop, Dan was drowned reading a ninja magazine, Natalie was repolishing her nails, Jonah was humming to himself as he filled up an empty musical scale with notes, and Sinead was dissecting an electronic instrument with its different wires and internal microchips exposed. All of them in one large table. The only unoccupied chair was Hamilton's, since he had a lesson in arts and history with Professor Julius MacMillan at this hour. But nevertheless, it was a sight to see. Everyone else was spending their free time studying/resting the way they wished, as was the privilege given to the Elites as students.

"Everyone," said Amy, and all Elites raised their heads from what they were doing to look at Amy and give her the attention she demanded. "I think...well, I have no idea, but…I think Grace is hiding something from us."

"Ugh, Amy," said Dan, who, as her brother, knew very well what the Madrigal was talking about. "Grace said not to worry about the fire anymore. We have the police department for a reason."

"I know, but did they figure out the culprit yet? No. We need to find out as soon as we can, because we never know if—or _when_ —this guy will strike again." Amy stomped her foot on the floor for emphasis. "He might target MadriGreen and kill us next. He already attempted to do that once; he won't hesitate to do it again. Grace almost died, and I…"

"So paranoid. Okay, okay, calm down, Ames," said Jonah. "Just tell us what you figured out."

"Does anyone else know about the Poor Richard's Almanack?"

A teacup suddenly shattered to the ground. Everyone suddenly jerked their heads towards Ian, whose face was suddenly pale.

This caught Amy's concern and veered her away from her resolve, even just a little bit. "…Ian? Is something…wrong?"

Ian seemed to break out of a trance then, then shook his head vigorously with a smile on his face. "Ah, no, no, everything's absolutely fine, Amy. Absolutely fine."

"You usually repeat your words whenever something's _not_ fine."

He jerked his head to face his sister. "I'm _fine_ , Natalie."

"That's thrice," mumbled the girl.

Ian decided to leave it at that and turned to Amy. "The...Poor Richard's Almanack. That's what you said?"

"Yes," said Amy, starting to get suspicious. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you know how that's connected to the fire?"

Ian bent down to pick up the shattered pieces of his teacup's glass onto the concrete floor, but mostly it was to hide the greenness his face must have been getting at the moment. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach, but didn't show it in his words. "No. I just remembered…something of no great concern. Irrelevant to the matter. Please proceed." And, even in his evident distress, he was still able to manage even the tiniest smirk on those lips of his, looking at Amy with that mischievous glint in his eyes. "Miss Lovely Rank Two."

A visible vein popped out of Amy's forehead in annoyance. "You creep."

"The Poor Richard's Almanack," Jonah spoke factually to veer the group back into the matter. "Written by Richard Suess, which was a pseudonym used by Benjamin Franklin."

"Correct," said Amy, trying to shake herself off of thoughts of Ian.

"What about it?" asked Dan.

The look on Amy's eyes was grave. "Grace told me that someone had hacked the Cahill Library to gain access of its underground archive. They used the fire as a distraction and to mull the security while they stole the book. I wonder what makes it so important, but Grace wouldn't—"

"Why don't you just…stop _meddling_ with their business, Cahill, and study like a normal student?" Sinead snapped at Amy and they all looked at her. And did Sinead look a bit…pale, just like Ian, almost as if she knew something they didn't? "The police are working on it," continued the Ekat. "You better stay out of whatever that is."

Amy flinched, and there she snapped. She'd been trying to endure Sinead's cold attitude ever since, but a week with her was too much. Sinead's outburst made the Madrigal burst out herself, angry tears blossoming like transparent flowers in her eyes. "Why…just…just _why_ are you so cold towards me, Sinead? What did I ever do to you?"

"Answer this," Sinead challenged as her response, standing up from her chair, her own eyes seeming to burst into flames. "What do you call the branch of entomology dealing with diurnal insects with gnarled antennae and a set of wings?"

Amy and the rest were frozen in silence.

"Can you explain to me in detail how the chaos theory works?"

Amy didn't know how or what to answer.

"Or how about quantum chromodynamics?" Sinead prodded on. "Scientific opinions on Planet 9? Or perhaps even the simple concept of nanotechnology? And that hafnium and tungsten debate…which do you think is better for containing nuclear reactors?" But there was only silence echoing back at her. "Amy? Can you hear me? Do you even know _anything?_ "

To all, Amy only blinked. She had no idea.

Then, Sinead said, "See? This is exactly why I'm being like… _this_ to you. You don't even know anything, and yet you are ranked higher than me."

Amy finally gained the courage to look up at this girl who used to be her closest friend.

"This…is all because of a class rank?"

There was a clap of hands. "Ah, she finally gets it," satirised Sinead. "I'm saying that you don't fight fair. Because, your grandmother, over there?" She pointed a thumb at the direction of the House of Madrigals, the building where the university faculty resided temporarily since the Cahill Mansion had been burned down. "Isn't Grace, I don't know...the university president?"

Amy caught her gist. "So you're saying that Grace is cheating on my grades."

"Exactly."

"No!" Amy burst out, going from authoritative to emotional in just a matter of seconds. It was amazing how Sinead Starling had this cutting effect on people she didn't like. "Why would you ever assume such thing? Grace would never do that! And I would never cheat! I'm—I'm rank two because I—" she forced herself _not_ to notice the smirk that Ian Kabra was emitting her way— "because I worked hard for it!"

"Oh, really? All of us here know that you and Dan are Grace's favourite pets. And isn't it _such_ a coincidence? Grace is the first Madrigal in decades to ever become the university present. And _you_ two—" she pointed a finger of accusation at both Amy and Dan— "are the first Madrigals, in _decades,_ to ever become Elites. That only means one thing." Sinead looked at both the Cahills in the eyes. "Your grandmother is cheating for you."

Dan stood up to his and his sister's defence. "Hey! Where did you get those lies?"

"Lies?" said Sinead, turning to Dan. "Or justified truths?"

"Sinead, don't get my brother involved in this!"

"Or _what?_ "

Someone groaned from the background. "You know something, gals—"

"Get lost, Wizard!"

Jonah, who had only been trying to help, sank back down in his chair sulkily. "Okay, okay, _sorry_ , I said too much."

"No," interjected Ian, siding with the Wizard. "Miss Starling and Miss Rank Two, my ladies, Jonah is correct. You should fridge yourselves first."

"…you just can't stop calling me that, can you?" grumbled Amy.

Jonah arched a confused eyebrow at Ian. He didn't remember saying anything about fridges.

Dan rolled his eyes at the Kabra. That Brit and his Britishisms. "Dude, there's no such thing as 'fridge yourselves'. Do you mean _chill?_ "

"Precisely."

Hamilton chose that precise moment to barge in with a happy face. "Hey, everyone!" he said, waving something in the air that looked like a test paper marked with an A. Nothing less from an Elite student, of course. "I just scored a 95! Professor MacMillan said I'm doing better!" But, when no one responded to his happy announcements, he stopped at his chair and stared at the glum people in front of him, Sinead and Amy facing each other like two manga wrestlers about to commence battle.

"Uh…everyone?"

"Ugh, enough of this nonsense," said Natalie, dramatically fanning herself as if feeling hot from the tension. "My hair's losing its fragrance because of the lot of you."

Sinead wordlessly grabbed her backpack and stalked out of the conservatory.

Ian closed the lid of his laptop and stood up, tucking his electronic notebook under his arm. "I should go as well. I have an appointment. I have a lesson in economics with Mother scheduled this afternoon."

The formality of his words sounded strange, even if it came from Ian Kabra's lips. Yes, Isabel Kabra may be the university's Lucian Dean, but who in the world met with their mother and called it an 'appointment'? No one chose to utter a single word as Ian straightened his Lucian red tie and started to walk out as well.

"Hey," said Hamilton, all too suddenly. Ian didn't turn around to look at the Tomas, but he paused from walking to indicate that he was listening. "Eh…are you going to go past the cafeteria?" asked the Holt. "Would you buy me a chocola—"

The Lucian shot Ham a demonic look that froze the gentle giant on the spot. If Ian Kabra were an anime character, he'd be looming over a suddenly-ant-sized Tomas with a red-and-black demonic background smoking from behind him.

"Do I _look_ like an errand boy to you?"

"Nope," muttered Jonah, then leaned to Amy, who was nearest to him. "More like an evil dark warlord."

Amy smiled at Jonah. At least someone was jolly enough for even the littlest joke.

Ham gulped his fear and sat back in his chair. Geez. "Okay, never mind."

"Ian," said Natalie, who shot out from her chair worriedly before Ian left. "Are you…?"

No need to complete the sentence. The question was already in her eyes.

"Yes, Natalie," he answered. "I'm…fine." Ian's eyes became distant for the briefest moment, then shook it away and gave his sister a small smile before he disappeared through MadriGreen's glass doors.

"That's four times," mumbled the little Kabra before she sat back in her chair. She grabbed a random history book from a pile, then started to get lost in the pages.

* * *

The orange light of the slowly setting sun touched everything on sight.

It was a flavescent late afternoon, and the students of Cahill University had been dismissed for the day. Ian had just finished his so-called 'appointment' with his mother, where discussion of Xenophon's _Oeconomicus_ quickly turned into a discourse of the Kabra family's two leading companies, the Magni and the Vikratech Institute, mostly about their branches in Beijing and Shanghai, China, respectively. Well, China didn't really take Westerners that easily.

Mother and son/teacher and student had taken an overtime, obviously, but Ian didn't mind—even though he didn't let it show in his face, he actually enjoyed his mother's presence, especially when it was money they were talking about. Well, money was his family's expertise. That was primarily the reason why Isabel wanted to personally become her children's mentor in the subject of economics.

As Ian walked down the hall of the House of Lucians' fourth floor, he noticed that there were still some stray students spotting the grassland from down below. They were probably the working students who stayed late to assist the janitors in cleaning the classrooms to gain the weekly allowances offered by the university, or maybe those diligent students who preferred to continue studying even after school. Ian flipped out his phone and called Bickerduff.

"Pick me up in an hour," said Ian in his authoritative tone. "I would be in the Cahill Library."

"An hour, master? Wouldn't you like me to escort you now?"

"No. I'm going to take a brief look into medieval literature first before going home."

"Of course, master."

"Is Natalie home now?"

"Yes, master, the young mistress is currently busy reviewing for your tomorrow's aptitude exams. I had Giles pick her up two hours ago, at dismissal." Bickerduff paused. "Have you an overtime with Mistress Isabel again?"

"Yes. Mother and I had a pleasant time. Well, Bickerduff. I should see you later."

"Very good, master." Then the phone call ended.

The elevator dinged, and out Ian walked, proceeding to the Cahill Library as he went through the long empty hallway, immersed in his thoughts now that he was left alone. And now that he was left alone, that one matter that he had pushed at the very back of his had started to surface again.

The _Poor Richard's Almanack_ …

Ian stopped walking, though unconsciously. His brown, overcast eyes stared through the thoughts that clouded his vision before him.

So. It had been stolen. It was funny, because, back when he was still younger, his mother had tried to steal the very same book. From the Cahill Library, she said. _This is going to be a test, your first solo mission, and your success or failure would determine if you are really the Lucian you think you are_ , he could remember her saying. He was twelve back then, with enough Lucian training and Elite medals to prove the standard of his capability. Mother had been expecting much from him back then.

But he'd failed. Just as he had been in the middle of acquiring the book in his hands from its glass container, the police came, and he had only been inches away from capture. He could have stained the name of the Kabras of the future generations if it hadn't been for the escape helicopter Mother had sent him at the last second. Thank goodness no one recognized him.

It was a child's nightmare. It had haunted him for years, and now that he was sixteen, he thought that he'd already forgotten all about it. But then it turned out that the memory still lurked somewhere in his mind. No, he realized, he'd never be able to forget it. Because how could he? It was his first failure. He would never forget the sirens that erupted into his ear, the thundering footsteps that chased after him when they found out that their precious library was being fleeced. He would never forget the look of disappointment in his mother's eyes, the way she didn't even think it worth the bother to look at her own child for weeks. It had been traumatic for Ian, being given the silent treatment by his own mother, just to rub it in his face how much he'd failed as a Lucian. Weeks had passed and Ian and his mother's relationship was gradually repaired, although Ian could never be sure if his Mum would ever look at him with pride again.

Because being just a mere twelve-year-old, he had no idea back then.

"So," said a muffled voice, interjecting through his thoughts, which made Ian look behind him to see three fourth-year girls. They were the same girls who had publicly announced their hatred against the Elites on the first day of school—only, he noticed, they were short of one girl unlike that day. He narrowed his eyes at them as he strained his ears to hear what their leader was saying.

"Those—those _Litters_ practically burned down the whole Cahill Manor, and they get to hang out all day at the MadriGreen Conservatory as punishment? They don't get at _least_ suspended?" said the leader, voice full of contempt.

Ian arched an eyebrow. Did this girl just call the Elites, the most prestigious and high-ranking students in the whole university, as Litters? _Trashes_? The gall! But the girl, since unaware of a spectator, continued to speak in disdain against her hated schoolfellows.

"Those Litters are such spoiled brats. They always get what they want, because apparently their very parents are members of the university faculty. Hmph. How peachy."

But then, suddenly, one of the girl's companions caught Ian's gaze and tugged at her friend's shirt. Ian's skill in labiomancy, or lip-reading, told him that the girl had actually said, "Shh! Quiet, Eriele! He could hear you!"

At this, Eriele looked up, then she and the Kabra across her locked eyes. Ian narrowed his.

It was a silent battle between the regular students' first honours and the Elite's top one.

Then, Eriele scoffed, and fled the hallway with a sashay of her long hair, her two henchmen following her from behind like underdogs. Ian proceeded to the library, where he spared a few of the sixty minutes he had researching about some of his potential enemies in the future. It was, after all, his personal motto—

Know thy enemy.

* * *

As the minutes passed, it was gradually getting dark out. Ian took the freshly printed paper from the printer, gave it a bit of a scanning, absorbing the letters with his eyes. Then he folded it thrice, and put them in his pocket. The information he'd obtained might become useful for later. He gave the librarian in charge of the library's computer section a brief nod before he climbed up the stairs to proceed to where the shelves were. He'd already covered science, mathematics, and history—but he still had medieval literature left to review for tomorrow's exams.

He fingered the book shelves for a bit, and was quick to pick a book. He pulled it out, gave the old brown cover a half-approving nod, then went to the reading section of the library to do his scholarly duties. But once he entered through the doors, he saw…

Amy Cahill?

Ian strolled through the reading tables and approached her from behind. He intended to speak a word, but then he saw that the girl was actually hunched over, her red hair spilling onto the table as she slept over piles and piles of open books. Ian bent down to peer at the textbooks, and saw that she had actually been busy studying math, black and red pens, yellow highlighters, a pencil, a sharpener, and an eraser just beside her. Scratch papers were scattered, some x-marked and crumpled, and after a bit of investigating, Ian deduced that the Elite's Second was actually having the tiniest bit of trouble at lengthy synthetic division and graphing simple quadratic equations.

Ian chuckled silently. Still, you had to be amazed at this girl. She was determined to dethrone him from first honours even though everyone knew that such a task was impossible. And yet she believed otherwise. She was doing her best trying to best him, and he wondered how Sinead could ever assume that someone as hardworking as her could even have the capability to cheat.

The Lucian decided that it would probably be more motivating for him to study if he sat beside her and waited until she woke up. So, he pulled a chair opposite her from the table, and, comfortable with his choice of seat, he started flipping the pages of his book and reviewed himself. Every now and then he would spare Amy a glance just to check if she was already awake, but every time he did he would only see her peacefully snoring the minutes away.

"Miss Lovely Rank Two," he murmured, laughing to himself after the fifth time he gave her a glance. "I guess studying in continuous long hours isn't your style."

"Of course it isn't," said a voice from behind him, and Ian stiffened. "She couldn't even graph simple quadratic equations, and from those scratch papers I see, she's still getting confused with synthetic division."

Ah. Ian relaxed. Just the person he'd wanted to talk to ever since.

"Sinead Starling." Ian calmly closed his eyes as he turned over a page on the book on his lap. "I see that you're still here."

"Oh, really, Lord Obvious?" said the Ekaterina with a dramatic eye roll. "I didn't realize."

Ian sighed. "Do you _always_ have to put a sarcastic squint at every single thing you say?"

"Yes. It's a gift. Why? Can't you stomach the sarcasm?" Sinead approached his line of vision, and Ian looked up to see her smirking down at her. "I can always dumb it down for you if you want."

"Mmm…no, please don't," said Ian, ever the calm, cool, and collected. "It's just that I'm not in the mood for crossing swords with you at the moment." It was his turn to smirk up at her. "But when we do get the chance to spar, _you'd_ be pleading _me_ to 'dumb it down' for _you_ , to borrow your American term."

Sinead stood straight back up, then scoffed. "Whatever."

She proceeded to stroll away from him, when Ian decided to call out her name before he lost the chance to be alone with her again.

"Wait."

"What?"

"…why is it, Sinead," Ian started, "that you are always hateful towards Amy?"

Darkness fell onto Sinead's eyes, remembering that fateful day when the Holts had been primarily suspected by the police to have caused the Franklin Institute incident, where her brothers were almost…taken away from her. "I hate cheaters." She turned away. "And _she_ is a cheater."

"Can you produce proof that she or her grandmother Grace is cheating on her or Daniel's grades?"

"I don't need proof," the girl huffed. "It's just that…Grace is the first Madrigal in years to be seated as university president. And then she and her brother come along, the first Madrigals in years to become Elites. It's just too much of a coincidence. _I_ was first honours in the Elite when, suddenly, you two," she glared pointedly at Amy and then at Ian, "come in to steal the title away from me. And I'm sure that I'm more intelligent than you are. And yet…you are higher. Because your parents, grandparents, whatever, have positions in the university faculty."

Ian was silent after that outburst. It was true. His and Natalie's mother was the Lucian Dean and Dan and Amy's grandmother was the university head. Jonah's mother was Elite Seven Chief Executive, and Hamilton's father had a position just next to the Tomas Dean. Only Sinead didn't have a parent who had a position in the faculty. Come to think of it, a relative of every member of the Elites had a position in the university faculty, except for Sinead. So Ian saw the Starling's point—she had the right to be suspicious that they were cheating. But he had to make her see how the system works.

"Sinead," he said, after a long while, "how do you think it is that we are graded?"

She blinked. "Is that even a question? Everyone knows how we are graded. Students are graded by their intelligence."

"And what is intelligence for you?"

"It is the ability to comprehend and absorb factual knowledge."

Ian steepled his fingers. "You are only half-correct," he said. He'd been preparing to say these words to Sinead ever since she and Amy had fought back in the MadriGreen some hours ago. If he could do something to remedy their friendship, then Ian thought that he should at least try by merely relaying what he knew.

"Intelligence is not only factual. It is also experiential. Almost like wisdom. Strategy. As the Lucian professors always say, _don't_ study harder. Study smarter. There's a difference. The way Cahill University is different from other schools is that it doesn't measure how much the student is able to memorize textbook facts that you just simply write down the answers on the test paper on the next day. The system of other schools dictates that a student is only intelligent if he or she can memorize a whole textbook in half a second.

"But our university is unique, in the way that it grades the students according to how much he or she is able to tap on his or her own special abilities to their own advantage. They test us, not how we answer the papers, but how we answer real life, through the mock missions. That's how important the mock missions are.

"Unlike many other schools, our university actually acknowledges what its students are capable of, and helps them to hone them. Achieving the best of it, that is intelligence. This is why the mock missions comprise of eighty per cent of our grades, and the aptitude exams are only ten per cent. It means that even if you _do_ perfect the exams tomorrow, if you fail even one mock mission, your grades will automatically be plummeting down the—"

Sinead tapped Ian on the shoulder to interrupt him. "Uh, nice speech and all, but I need to get going."

Ian blinked his disbelief and stared at the Ekaterina as she quickly disappeared down the hall.

Once alone, the grandfather clock ticked. And tocked. And ticked.

And tocked.

Almost as if it was laughing at Ian's open-mouthed incredulity.

_After all those philosophical words I'd taken the effort to prepare a little while ago…_

"…did that girl actually _just_ walk out on me in the middle of my lecture?"

Unbelievable.

* * *

But despite having unbelievably walked out in the middle of Ian's lecture, Sinead's eyes were actually clouded with those philosophical words of his, that, unbelievably, got through those walls of hers. She'd walked out, not because she didn't want to hear the rest of his words, or that she didn't care—it was because her own thoughts were loud enough for her to bear, and hearing Ian's voice blabber through her audial nerves wouldn't exactly help to ease the cacophony of voices ringing inside her head.

_The Kabra is right._

_Is your anger against Amy even justified?_

_Do you have proof she's cheating?_

_Why did you let everything veer towards where your 'friendship' is now?_

_You had a beautiful relationship, but you let your envy—_ envy _, a trivial emotion—burn it down into a pile of ashes._

It was a sick feeling to the stomach, really. But no. It was not envy she had felt towards Amy this whole time, it was…misunderstanding. Sinead had always been under the assumption that they were being graded by intelligence, by how much they knew. That had always been the system, right? That was why she had always been so confident that _she_ was the one who actually deserved to be ranked first, and that both Amy and Ian should actually be several ranks below her. After all, she prided herself with her own intelligence, after having read all those science books and made all those original inventions throughout her entire life until her head swelled with all the massive amounts of gigabytes of knowledge stored inside of her.

But Ian's words somehow made her realize that she'd been blind all this time. Sinead Starling picked the lock of the computer room for a bit without even breaking a sweat, entered it, dropped her schoolbag onto the floor, and logged onto one of the computers. She was quick to hack into the university's student database. She brought to window her and Amy's student profiles, and that was where she saw the concrete evidence of the truth in Ian's words.

She saw, under her name, Sinead Starling, that all her aptitude exams were perfect, not a single mistake. It was one-hundred per cent spotless and clean. Pride swelled her heart when she saw that, in every year, she had never ever achieved even a single error in the exams.

She scrolled down, and saw her test results in the mock missions, and was only slightly disappointed to see that she gained percentages between 90 and 93 per cent. But still. Not bad.

But when she brought up Amy Cahill's student profile, she saw that her Madrigal rival only scored with an average of eighty-five per cent in her aptitude exams every year. A complete contrast in Sinead's spotless records.

 _See, this is_ exactly _what I am talking about_ , said an inner voice in Sinead. _I should definitely have a higher class rank than her._

But then Sinead scrolled down. And then she saw them. The results. And they shocked her.

Amy's mock missions results were…were…

Sinead gulped. Amy scored an average that was definitely higher than hers. Ninety-five to ninety-seven per cent. And Ian…

Shut. Up. Darn that snaky Lucian—he scored an average of ninety-eight to one hundred per cent.

The girl sat back into her chair, staring blankly at the computer screen in disbelief. So. That was why. Now she saw. Clarity blew away the smoke that had been fogging her senses all this time, and Sinead felt like she had been the biggest anserine friend who had ever lived in the long and winding history of the Cahillian Ekaterinas.

 _The mock missions comprise of eighty per cent of our grades, and the aptitude exams are only ten per cent_ , he'd been saying. _Intelligence is not only factual. It is also experiential. Almost like wisdom. Strategy._

"Oh, holy cow," she muttered to herself. She'd been so…shallow. She and Amy had been the best of friends, and yet she had destroyed…destroyed…

She held her head in her hands miserably. "What have I…"

_They test us, not how we answer the papers, but how we answer real life, through the mock missions. That is how our university is unique._

She couldn't believe it. How had she become so oblivious? Even though Sinead was definitely better than either Amy or even sometimes Ian in the exams, the mock missions still comprised most of their grades, and Amy scored higher than her. Sinead had based her accusations on biased notions and misled judgements. How could she have falsely accused Amy to be cheating? She had been her friend. Amy was her friend! How did it even cross her mind about these things? Was she _that_ obsessed about being ranked first that she had forgotten how good friends they had always been in the past?

And now Sinead felt as if she had been the worst friend who had ever existed.

"I need to…to…" Sinead gulped. She didn't do this every day. She didn't _feel_ like this every day.

"…apologize."

But then that's when she heard them.

"Shh, you guys!" said a muffled voice. "Do you want her to hear us or something?"

Wait. Sinead sat straight up, her alert senses kicking in. She pushed aside her feelings for a bit and switched on her professional mode, like the Ekaterina she was. Someone else was in here? Isn't everyone supposed to be at home already, studying for the exams tomorrow?

Sinead cautiously got up from her seat and slung her schoolbag over her shoulders. As she tiptoed towards the end of the hall of the computer laboratory, she continued to hear more…voices. Hushed voices. Feminine. Then the familiar ticking of the keyboard as someone continuously typed on them with blinding speed. Sinead was almost impressed with the typing speed, but of course no one would be impressed with people who are trying to break-in.

Sinead reached the end of her side of the hall, then suddenly pulled open the curtain that separated her from these mysterious people.

"You!"

Three people in black suits looked up from their computer, took one look at Sinead, and gasped.

"What do you think are you doing?" Sinead said, taking brave steps forward towards the three masked people, who backed away in fright from the Starling. Hmm. Professionals they were, professionals at displaying immediate fear. "Are you…" Sinead took one look at the bright blue screen of their computer. Then the Ekat gasped. "That's the school's test database!"

One of them clenched their fists and stood in front of the computer defiantly to block Sinead's view of it.

"I told you this isn't a good idea!" hissed one from behind her.

"Let's get out of here already!" seethed another, her shaking tone obviously terrified.

"Quiet, you fools!" screeched the leader, who apparently looked _very_ irked at her two easily-frightened henchwomen. "Let me handle this, alright? I'm sure we can make an acquaintance of…" The leader's face was masked, but Sinead could swear she that she suddenly smirked over at her direction. "…Elite's Rank _Third_ over here."

Sinead was annoyed—she hated it whenever people said her rank. It was like they were telling her that she wasn't good enough, never will be and stuck there forever. She backed away defensively, her fists up and ready in case the girls suddenly attacked. "What do you want from me?"

"You? Oh, no, I don't want anything from you. In fact, since I'm _so_ kind, I'm even going to offer you something." The leader-girl held up three sheets of paper, waving it in the air in front of her in a very seductive manner. "These contain all the answers to tomorrow's aptitude exams. And I'm going to let you take a look at them. As a matter of fact, I'm even going to let you see the mock missions that the Lucian Department has in store for you this year."

Sinead froze. Show her the mock missions? They can do that? But how did they…

"…what…what do you mean?" the Ekat croaked out.

The leader-girl held her head up high triumphantly, thinking, _Oh, aren't I just brilliant? I now have this grade-greedy fish on the hook_.

"I _meant_ , my dear, darling, Ekaterina, that you are _finally_ going to be Elite's Rank First this time." She smiled, like a mischievous little pixie, revealing all white teeth, which shone against the moonlight that spilled from the windows. "That is what you've always wanted, no? Sinead Starling, the grand, intelligent, beautiful Elite Valedictorian. I already see banners held up in the graduation ceremony with _your_ name in it, Sinead. And all it would take," she held up the papers to her, "would be my friendship."

Sinead let her fists fall to her sides as the leader-girl walked forward to her with a laugh. "Now, Starling? Do you see what I'm trying to say here? What do you think? Are you in or not?"

"I…I see," muttered Sinead.

The leader-girl laughed, then turned to her henchwomen. "Now, what did I tell you? Sinead wants to be our friend! Let's welcome her to our group!"

The henchwomen looked at each other uncertainly. But their leader-girl seemed definitely enthused with everything in her plan going along smoothly. And even better. She was now going to have a new member in her small team, and she was an Elite Ekaterina. This was a grand development. What a catch tonight!

"Let me see the papers," Sinead immediately demanded in her authoritative tone, holding out her hand towards the leader-girl. "Let me see them now."

"Oh, okay then," said the leader-girl, still smiling like victoriously. She handed the dismissively papers over at Sinead. "Now, let me tell you about our humble little group. We had always been in the shadows, hacking computers, especially the test database. And then we—"

And then she was interrupted by the sound of ripping. The three girls suddenly turned their heads to look at Sinead, and they were suddenly shocked at the sight of freshly-ripped papers slowly flying down to the ground at the Starling's feet.

It took them a moment to realize what Sinead had just done. And the Starling was just standing there, arms crossed, a smirk on her face. Leader-girl was furious. "What the—you _ripped_ them?! YOU RIPPED THEM!"

"Hmm? I have?" mocked Sinead, looking around as if she didn't know what she was talking about. "Oh, sorry, Lady Obvious, I didn't realize."

"H…how…how…how…" Leader-girl fell to her knees, then desperately grabbed at the ripped papers, horrified as if seeing a premonition of her future: shredded into pieces, just as these papers were. "How could you…do this to…"

"Listen to me, you three dumbbells, and listen to me carefully." Three pairs of eyes immediately turned to Sinead's, and saw her green ones burning murderously over at them. "You're right. I want to graduate a valedictorian. But cheating is meaningless. I would get the first honours medal for my brothers, and I will work for it with my own sweat. Not like you cheap lowlifes who couldn't even manage to get a perfect score without your precious cheat sheets."

Suddenly, clapping was heard from behind Sinead (it was Ian), and the Starling felt a weight land onto her shoulder. She looked back to see…Amy. And she was—

— _smiling_ at her?

Sinead was suddenly speechless then and there. She couldn't move, and she could have sworn that her heart stopped beating. Her eyes widened into green orbs.

" _Amy?_ But where—how—"

"You did the right thing, Sinead."

But that wasn't what Sinead wanted to ask her. As the Starling stared at those green pair of eyes that stared back at her with emotion, all Sinead wanted to ask was this:

_Smiling? But why? Why are you smiling at me, Amy? Have you forgotten all I've done to you? Are you an idiot, or are you just really…_

… _kind?_

After seconds of speechlessness, Amy smiled, then opened her mouth to say something.

"Righteous, aren't you, Starling? I'm impressed. I honestly thought you were going to take those cheat sheets home with you."

Amy clamped her mouth shut and swivelled her head around to glare at the creep behind her.

"Ian!"

"Oh, hello, love. Missed me?"

"M-m-me?" spluttered a reddening Amy. "Missed _you?!_ "

As Sinead watched the two of them bicker around like a cat and dog, she thought, _When are these two going to stop flirting around and get together?_ Because, honestly. Sinead chuckled as she rolled her eyes. Then, her eyes fell on Amy, whose cheeks were blushing vigorously even under the darkness of night. She didn't even seem as if she was angry at her for all the Starling had done, for how she had mistreated her all this time.

She shook her head. No time for that right now.

"Where did _you_ two come from? How did you get here?" Sinead demanded.

Ian and Amy stopped bickering and looked at her. The Lucian tapped his temple. "Simple. The power of deduction." Ian turned his head to look at the three masked people in front of them. He walked forward confidently towards the three, who huddled and cowered together like threatened little chicks.

"I knew what you were up to, so I expected an unprofessional break-in tonight, as such. Turns out I am correct, aren't I—" Ian gave each of them a sharp gaze as he mentioned their names—"Eriele Cienfuegos, Hanna Annafellows, Samantha Michaels?"

Silence.

"H-he…he knows our…"

"Doesn't matter!" Leader-girl ripped her mask off of her face and revealed her identity—Eriele Cienfuegos. Sinead and Amy gasped, recognizing her as the girl from the first day of school, but Ian remained calm. "You Litters! Stop messing with us!"

"What?" asked Ian innocently, ever the Lucian actor. "Do you want me to say your addresses as well?"

A girl tugged on Eriele. "Let's get out of here, Eriele!"

"No," said Eriele determinedly. "He's bluffing. That Litter couldn't possibly know our—"

"Eriele Cienfuegos," Ian started, his eyes closed, then yawned as if bored before continuing. "You had migrated here on Ireland from Manila, Philippines. Second day of October, last year in Air Lingus, flight sixteen. Ever since your grandparents died, you sought help from Grace Cahill and she transferred you to study here." Ian opened his eyes. "You live in the old apartment of your uncle Renan Gonzales, second block, number eight-seven-four, street Re—"

"Ian, stop it!" hissed Amy from behind him. "You're provoking them!"

"L…l-listen to your _girlfriend_ , Kabra, and s-stop messing with us!"

Amy's eyes widened. "I-I'm n-n- _not_ his—"

"If you know what's good for you, you and your friends will walk out quietly." Ian revealed from under his shirt that he had a dart gun with him. "You are as good as caught, anyway."

"Oh, look, Ian feels like he's James Bond." Eriele laughed bitterly. "What do you think you are, Scotland Yard? You don't tell me what to do."

Ian stayed silent. He let the shining silver tip of his dart gun do the talking.

"Come on, Eriele!" whispered a henchwoman beside her. "He knows our names! Isn't that enough for you?"

Eriele clenched her fists, but then she and her two other companions neared the window. "Mark my words. I'll come back. I'll destroy all of you Litters, and I—"

"—and you will achieve world domination and everyone will fall on their knees and all that villainy stuff and blah, blah, blah." Sinead waved Eriele off dismissively, to her chagrin. "We've heard that line repeatedly from the movies. Now go and study in your homes or reconstruct a non-cliché line or something. Then let us hear it _if_ you do come back."

With one last glare, Eriele, Hanna, and Samantha jumped out of the window and rushed out into the dead of night.

"I…didn't know there were students like that," muttered Amy, once the top three Elites were finally left alone. "But what if they have a spare copy of the answer sheets?

"Don't worry," said Ian, as he started walking away for the door. "Even if they _do_ perfect the aptitude exams, I'd always be ranked first, anyway. Although, I'm not quite sure of you two." He smirked at the frozen pair of girls, who, with their expressions, looked very thoroughly annoyed. "They're not as important as the mock missions, but please still do your best at tomorrow's aptitude exams."

"I definitely will!" Sinead announced heatedly, bringing her fist up in the air.

"Oh, I know you would," laughed Ian, "but I'm not sure of my love over there."

"Your _what?_ " spluttered a once-again blushing Amy. "I thought I told you not to call me that!"

"Then what do you want me to call you? Miss _Lovely_ Rank Two?"

"N-No!" Amy threw her hands hysterically in the air, not being able to help it. "I'm _definitely_ going to be first tomorrow! Then I'd be calling _you_ Mister Swollen-Headed Rank Two!"

Ian walked out of the room, chuckling to himself. Oh, like he hadn't heard that line a million times already.

"Very well. I would be looking forward to that. Study hard, ladies." But then he paused, and looked pointedly at Sinead. "Or, rather, no. Study smart." With one, final, knowing wink at the Starling's direction, he closed the door.

Amy clenched her fists as she stared after him until he disappeared. "Honestly…"

But then, she felt a weight land on her shoulder. Amy looked behind her, to see Sinead.

"Amy…" the Ekat started, as though hesitatingly, but continued nonetheless. "Could we…start over again?"

It was Amy's turn to be speechless. Her eyes widened, and, before she knew it, she was throwing her arms over at Sinead with a teary laugh. And it was that moment in their lives when a ripped friendship was stitched again. Sinead smiled as she hugged her best friend back. Tightly. Like she had lost something but now had it in her arms once more.

They pulled apart from each other, tears in their eyes.

"Stupid lacrimal glands," mumbled Sinead as she wiped her face against her sleeve.

"Let's just forget about everything, okay?" said Amy.

"Oh, I'm not forgetting about anything, Cahill," asked Sinead with a smile, but it was not condescending—it was merely the Starling sort of smile, fiery with its usual competitiveness. "Tomorrow's the aptitude exams. Up for the challenge?"

Amy squeezed her friend's hand tightly, and summoned her most competitive look. Now there's the Sinead she knew and loved.

"Oh, yeah, Starling? Bring it on."

"I'm not letting you win."

"Neither am I."

"We'll see about that, Cahill."

"Indeed we will."

They paused.

Then laughed again.

True friends forgive easily, as they say. Their friendship might have been burned, but, from gathering the ashes, a new one just might blossom again.


	5. Elite Seven vs Student Council

_That same night, 11: 38 pm_ _  
_ _The Pierce Manor_

There were several seconds of shocked silence before the news finally sank in.

"… _seriously?_ "

"Yes," said the person on the other end of the phone call, anger clear in the sharp angles of her tone. "Seriously."

She gripped the phone in her hand with that confirmation. "What the devil, Eriele…and you said Ian Kabra was the one who caught you? _That_ arrogant Ian Kabra? From the Litters?"

"Yes, Cara. That same, stinking, smug Cobra. Who else?" said Eriele with a huff. "And what's more—a letter of suspension came in my doorstep. Just now. Turns out the Kabra had turned all three of us in to Madame Grace herself. Hannah, Samantha, and I are suspended for two whole weeks because of that dirty little Litter."

"You're suspended—for _two weeks?_ But then you wouldn't be able to go at the University Founders' Festival!" gasped Cara, but not too loudly, unless, of course, she wanted her father, J. Rutherford, to barge into her room and ask her what's wrong. She was supposed to be reviewing for the exams tomorrow, and if her strict father caught her on the phone, lying on her bed and talking to her friend…well. The equation would be like gadget exploitation plus engine failure, multiplied by J. Rutherford's anger. Ka-boom.

"Well, that's what you get for trying to cheat again. I warned you," said Cara. "But then who's going to be acting president while you're gone? Does that mean I—"

"Yes, it's the reason I called you," said Eriele. " _You're_ going to be the Student Council's acting president while I'm gone. Starting tomorrow." Then, the suspended student president dropped her voice an octave, as if she was about to share a little secret with her best friend. "And, Cara Pierce, what I want you to do with those Litters is this…"

* * *

_Next day, the day of the aptitude exams…_

He fixed his green tie one last time before posing proudly in front of his exquisite, life-size mirror.

"Gotta do awesome things today, Wiz," he told himself, just as he did everyday since the first day of school, nodding at his reflection determinedly. "Today's the day you're gonna make Mom proud."

Broderick let his hand land onto his son's shoulder. "Jonah. I'm already proud of you."

"Mom isn't."

"Isn't my pride of you enough?"

Jonah looked away from the probing eyes of his father. He shrugged Broderick's hand off of his shoulder. Jonah walked across the room until he reached the doors, which obediently hissed open automatically after having sensed his presence.

"What're you waiting for, an invitation? I'm gonna be late for school, Dad. We gotta start flying."

Broderick summoned a smile for his son and held his Blackberry so tightly that it might have just earned even just the littlest dent. "Right. Right." He blew out a shaky breath, and then, in a second, looked like his old, cheery self again. "Off we go, then."

Jonah bit his lip for a second, worrying if he had probably said something wrong. But then he looked up at his father, nodded at him with a forced smile, and started walking through the hall as they got in to an elevator, the seconds of ticking silence emanating between father and son getting even more and more deafening than the last. While riding in the limo, Broderick attempted small talks to try to pry out of him what was really wrong, but every time he touched this subject, Jonah always steered the direction of the conversation another way, making them go around in circles like a merry-go-round, thus getting them nowhere. Eventually, Broderick got tired and just gave up and fell silent for the rest of the ride, until Jonah had to say goodbye to spend the rest of the day in Cahill University. Jonah saw the limo off with a his usual cheery wave along with the fans that had gathered around him to take a picture/autograph, until the sleek long vehicle had to go around the corner and eventually then disappeared from his sight.

Jonah stopped waving his hand in the air and let it dangle down his side, as the noise of the screaming fangirls faded away in muted uproar. He had only been a few days at school, and yet he was already changing. The reason behind this was the pressure—the pressure of having the classmates that he had, of having the Elite status that he had, and of having the kind of mother that he had.

Cora Wizard would be extremely disappointed if he scored low on the exams today.

And his father…no. He would never understand the pain of rejection felt by Jonah Wizard, who everybody else thought that he felt was loved by the whole world—when, in truth, that was probably only the biggest lie ever told.

* * *

_The day after the aptitude exams…_

All of Cahill University's students stood either happily or miserably in front of the Board of Truth, their laughter and chatters filling in the cool and crisp morning air.

"Ehhhh," said Hamilton Holt, the letters coming out of him dripping with disappointment. He scratched the back of his head as he stood in front of the Elite Seven's side of the bulletin board, where the results of the tests yesterday were posted for public viewing of the ranks. "Seventh again," he said, defeatedly. "Well. Can't be helped, I guess. Weird. Dad also always got seventh when he was a student…"

"So," said a voice behind him, and Hamilton swivelled around to see Sinead Starling in her Yellow-Ekat uniform, green eyes big as she scrutinized the list in front of her. "I'm third. Not bad."

"Third, huh? _Again?_ " said Hamilton with a grin, trying to provoke her by passing the ball over to her court. (Not a bad metaphor, that one, for a Tomas.) Sinead had, after all, been tormenting him the past few days with those sarcastic remarks of hers, and it would be just fair if Hamilton tried his hand at sarcasm himself.

"That's right," smiled Sinead, and she turned to Hamilton to give him her brightest ever. The Holt, shocked, suddenly backed away. Her smile was so bright he could have mistaken it for the sun. _What?_ Is this woman actually _smiling?_

"A good job I did over there," she continued. "I'm third." The sunny smile then turned to a dark smirk. "Barely _seventh_ , am I?"

Hamilton gulped a big lump from his throat. Okay. That was sort of insulting.

"Oh ninja gods," said a shocked Dan, interrupting the two from further sparring. They both turned to see the Madrigal boy, standing in front of the list, looking like he wanted to pull his own hair out and do a session of walling. "I'm…I'm _fifth?!_ That Cobra beat me?! How did this…how…how…how did this _happen?!_ "

"At long last," said Natalie, who had just arrived and apparently interpreted Dan's wails of defeat as her crown of triumph. "The board has finally realized who should be the better one between the two of us."

"Don't get too smug, you bratty…brat!" Okay, all hail poor sentence construction. "This is only the beginning," warned Dan. "Wait till the mock missions!"

Natalie held her head high, oh, she being the natural beauty queen of darkness. "Then wait we shall, Daniel Cahill," she said with a cryptic smile. "Then wait we shall."

"It's _Dan,_ you amnesiac gramma!"

"Sixth," said Jonah, suddenly approaching from behind Hamilton and Sinead. Fangirls were gathered from behind him, staring at Jonah, transfixed, squealing fangirlishly with mesmerized eyes that could have been throbbing pink hearts with the way they followed the Wizard's every step with those lovey-dovey gazes of theirs. Jonah, however, didn't seem in very much of a mood to deal with them—in fact he seemed kind of…disturbed? "Ah, well. This Wiz's gonna do better next time." Then he turned to Ham and Sinead, shrugging the matter off of his shoulders like it was nothing at all. "Yo, did Amy defeat Ian yet?"

Sinead crossed her arms in front of her chest and closed her eyes with a shrug and a cryptic smile on her face. "You guess."

"Hey, Sinead!" said Amy Cahill, who was running towards them as she waved a slip of paper in the air. All present Elites turned to look at their energetic Madrigal member, a bouncing ball of joy. Well, speak of the devil. "Look at this!" she said, obviously proud of whatever she was waving with her hand. "Look! This is the first time in my life! I have a perfect score! _All subjects!_ Every one of them! Isn't that great?"

The regular students who heard her news clapped their hands as they gathered around the Elites in a circle. There were amazed _'Whoa!'s_ and _'Awesome!'s_ and ' _How did she do that?!'s_ all around. But, in the midst of the entire crowd's crying amazement, Sinead walked forward towards Amy, as silently as a snake.

At that, Jonah and Hamilton looked at each other worriedly. The message they transmitted towards each other was written all over their faces. They were quite hysterical questions, actually. Is Sinead about to start spilling sarcasm again? Is she about to brawl against Amy and pull out her hair and all those other sick things muscle-bound wrestlers do inside the wrestling ring? (A typical Tomas thought, of course.) Is Sinead going to lash at her, humiliate her in public, demand a duel of swords, shoot Amy with a hidden point-38-calibre shell gun tucked under her sleeve, or spray her over with explosive ammonium sulphide? Should they pull back Sinead and stop this boxing match from commencing? She Because, well, with Sinead Starling, you never know. She was one wild card. She was so unpredictable that her singing a few bars of Jonah Wizard's _Gangstas Have Feelings Too_ should be considered a possibility. (Jonah snickered at this thought. Get a load of _that_.) The Starling was as irregular as the weather.

Sinead was now in front of a smiling Amy, and the crowd fell silent as the two famous rival Elites stood before each other. Obviously, the crowd was waiting for some juicy fight to happen for some gossip to discuss about later at lunch—especially those blonde girls at the front with hot pink lipstick smeared all over their lips.

But then something happened.

"Really, Ames? _Oh my word!_ You really nailed it!" Sinead beamed, sharing Amy's enthusiasm as Amy showed Sinead her test results slip. After giving it a quick scan, Sinead leaped forward towards her best friend with two arms out open wide, consuming Amy in a big hug. "That's really great, Ames! I'm so happy for you!"

Jonah and Hamilton's jaws dropped. There goes their Most Unpredictable Woman of the Millennium Awardee.

"Thanks, Sinead!" said Amy. "I wouldn't have done it if we didn't study together. You helped a _lot_ when you taught me how to do synthetic division. And you did great on the exams too!"

Sinead held Amy tightly. Well, naturally, Sinead should have been first, but by purposefully solving test item number twenty-four from the Ekaterina Psychometric Test with a nine-digited pi (3.141592653) _instead_ of the required ten-digited pi (3.141592653 _5_ ), she could at least make way for Amy to enjoy a little burst of victory without Sinead trampling it. It was her first time not to perfect an aptitude exam, and would probably stain her perfect records forever, but that didn't matter. This was Sinead's simple way of saying 'Thank you' to an old friend who had easily forgiven her and welcomed her back.

For a moment, as the two hugged, the crowd was very silent.

Then the crowd was very loud. They put their fists up in the air, cheering, 'Yay! Sinead and Amy!' and the girls could only 'aww' at the sight of them hugging each other. It was a classic oh-em-gee-best-friends-forever-have-finally-made-up-OMG-OMG! scene that would make any girl shed at least even just a single tear of happiness. _This_ was a certainly better gossip than Sinead and Amy fighting about class ranks. Who bloody cared about class ranks, anyway? The regular students usually didn't.

But our two gentlemen didn't join the crowd in the fray. From the background, as they watched Sinead and Amy hug each other, Jonah's left eye and Hamilton's right eye twitched. And twitched. Simultaneously. Apparently, eye-twitching was the most movement their body could possibly manage for the moment. They were shocked. Seeing Sinead like this was too much for them to gulp down in one swig. And they were both thinking the same thing:

Who in Gideon Cahill's name was this woman in front of them, and what the devil did it do to Sinead 'Sarcasm is My Middle Name' Starling?

Meanwhile, Natalie and Dan stood side-by-side, watching all this melodrama playing out before them.

"So," started Natalie, watching from afar as Amy chattered on about how great she felt with her test results today. "She hasn't seen the ranking yet, has she?" she whispered to Dan. "With all her running around and noisy babbling…"

"Nope, she hasn't seen it yet," confirmed Dan, inserting his hands in his pocket casually as he leaned his back on the concrete pillar behind him. For a moment there, Natalie thought she heard him sound as if he actually… _pitied_ his older sister. "She thinks she's defeated Ian this time. But don't tell her. Not yet. Just let her gloat about it for a few seconds more. I've never seen her so happy."

Natalie spared a thoughtful glance at the Madrigal boy beside her, whose gaze was directed straight ahead. Hmm.

_So you care about your sister, don't you, Daniel…_

She smiled.

"We're the same, then," she mumbled absently under her breath.

"Eh? You said something?"

Natalie turned away from Dan to hide a blush. "Nothing."

"Hey, hey, hey, is it the apocalypse already?" said a voice, and both Dan and Natalie looked up at the same time to see Jonah Wizard slicing through the crowd with Hamilton behind him, whose bulky figure could almost make him qualify as the popstar's personal bodyguard. Jonah approached Amy and Sinead. "Are you two kiddin' my eyes? I demand the whole story. What just happened to the both of y'all?"

"Ahem," said Natalie, who quickly gathered her usual self-confidence and stepped forward herself. "Wizard, you are grammatically incorrect. You don't say 'both of y'all'. You _never_ say 'both of y'all'. 'Y'all' is a contraction of 'you all', and saying 'both of you all' is repetitive. And anyway, you only say 'all' when you are referring to three or more anaphors, which, in this case, you're not. So, instead, you should be saying, 'I demand the whole story. What happened to the _both of you?_ '"

"I so hate grammar nazis," Jonah proclaimed with a dramatic eye roll. The fangirls nodded their agreement vigorously, shooting angry gazes over at the female Kabra who dared bash their idol.

But Natalie barely even cared, just standing there casually examining her red fingernails. "Well, dear obnoxious Jonah Wizard. I can't just let you go around butchering our beautiful English language, can I?"

"Look!" cried Dan all too suddenly, who pointed at an empty lot of empty emptiness at the left of the crowd, which was empty. Was it mentioned that the empty lot was empty? "Just _look!_ Someone who cares!"

"Aughh," Jonah groaned, "Just tell me the story about what happened to the both of y'all."

"The whole story, you say?" said Sinead, looking up at Jonah. "Okay. Here goes. Once upon a time, what happened to the both of us remains between the both of us and _you_ stay out of the way. All's happy. The end."

Jonah stared open-mouthed at the girl in front of him, who might have just actually told him to scram. Unbelievable. Not one girl in his entire life had ever resisted a question that came from him. No. One. So who was this woman and how _dare_ she humiliate the great and mighty Jonah Wizard like _this?_

He felt a tap on his shoulder and realized it was Hamilton. "Come on, bro, let's just ignore the girls and play Chinese chequers at the MadriGreen like the old wise men we are."

"Right, Hamburger..." Jonah said, starting to walk away. But then, a lightbulb moment. "But her test results. Does that mean Amy is rank one? Did she finally defeat…"

But his loud musings were interrupted by a smooth, British-accented voice.

"Good morning, everyone," said an approaching noble Englishman, and the crowd of girls willingly parted to give way for him, some even fainting when they caught a whiff of his freshly sprayed clove-like scent. "And you, love," said he, amber eyes glinting with its everyday mischief, " _especially_ look as if you are actually glad with the test results, for the first time ever." He chuckled. "This day is historical. Wouldn't you say, Miss Lovely Rank Two?"

For a moment Amy seemed like she was going to burst, but she managed to control it with a long draw of breath. "That nickname," she said, patiently, "is changing today, Ian Kabra." Then, something morphed in Amy's face, something so shocking that Ian had to take a step back.

Good heavens.

Was that actually a _smirk_ on Amy's face?

"Or should I say…" the smirk on her face grew more pronounced. " _Mister_ Swollen-Headed Rank Two?"

 _My_ , thought Ian. Her smirk was first-class, and of course he should expect nothing less. She's had to endure _him_ all her life, for goodness' sake. He felt proud of his little lovely student, learning how to smirk and all. But, she had to do _better_ than this. Remove those tense muscles, inject a little more of Lucian evilness, erase all traces of Madrigal pacifism…

"Indeed a historical day," Ian snickered back. "Why? What happened? I'm still fond of using 'Miss _Lovely_ Rank Two' as your nickname."

"No, too bad—you wouldn't be saying that again," Amy said, ever the confident Elite Madrigal. Then she held up her test results slip in the air for him to see. "Look. A series of perfect scores in every single test the professors threw at me yesterday. I obviously defeated you."

Ian examined the slip of paper for a bit. After doing so, he closed his eyes.

Then smirked.

It was a moment of complete and utter horror for the ever so innocent Amy Cahill.

"What th—why are you—what are _you_ s- _smirking_ about?" she asked, a tremble in her voice, that old stutter starting to surface with every drop of fear poisoning her skin with a snow-white paleness. The smirk was suddenly gone. _A pity it's gone too soon_ , thought Ian, _because she's learned to do that from me._

"Answer me, Ian!" cried Amy. "What are you smirking about? What are you smirking about?" But Ian wasn't answering. Amy then desperately looked at the faces about her. "What is _he_ smirking about? G-g- _guys!_ "

"Well, you see, Amy..." began Sinead, not exactly knowing how to start.

"Ah, Sinead. Let my test results explain," interrupted Ian with another one of his smirks, and made a mini-paper plane with his test results slip. He casually let it slide smoothly through the air and Amy caught it. She read the results. And then couldn't stop herself from shaking. It was as if she'd just seen the most horrifying test paper slip she'd ever seen in her entire life.

"So," Ian began, ever the smug Elite Lucian. "I had pointed out a very minor and unnoticeable mistake in question number 47 from our General Cahill History test yesterday while we were taking the exams." He spoke casually, as if he expected them all to remember question number 47 from their History test. "We all know who Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree was, correct? Correct. English actor and theatrical producer noted for his lavish productions of William Shakespeare's masterpieces. But Sir Herbert was _not_ a Madrigal, as the test paper so erroneously said—he was a Janus. After presenting Professor Willows the 346th page of our Cahill History textbook written by Dr Dillon H. Stephenson, PhD, as proof of my claim, the kind Professor Willows praised me for a job well done, and generously gave me an addition of ten points to my _already_ perfect test results. Which of course only means one thing."

Unlike Amy, who had been cheered on with amazed praises and roars, Ian Kabra, on the other hand, was commended by the crowd with a shocked, clearly astonished silence. Every single one of them had their jaws dropped onto the floor like a magnet onto steel that they didn't know any more if they were still capable of speaking. Ian took this all in smugly.

"S-s-s-so…" said Amy, who was the first to break out of her trance, not being able to believe it. "So d-d-does that m-mean...that I...am...se...se...se..."

Natalie just bluntly blurted it out for her to end all the melodrama that was starting to wrinkle her oh-so-beautiful skin.

"Yes, Amy. Second."

Ian laughed and patted a glum and miserably Amy on the head like a dog. "There, there, love, no matter what happens, you'll still always be my Miss Lovely Rank Two."

Amy swatted his hand away angrily. She was shaking terribly from disappointment and utter frustration.

So. She was second. Second to _Ian Kabra_. Second. Second. The word was ringing inside her ears and it hurt.

She was second.

_Second._

Again.

"Don't…call me…" Then her voice exploded. " _Rank Two!_ "

It was so loud that the hawks came out of their hiding and flew squawking to the bright blue sky.

* * *

The MadriGreen Conservatory was a peaceful place, a perfect sanctuary for students. Ever since this year's Elite Seven batch had been introduced in here, MadriGreen had proved that it simply was not a house for ferns and ornamentals, but it was also a home. For years she had been providing shelter for Cahill University's top seven students and had never failed to do its job—which was to unite them whenever the clock strikes 8:00 am.

MadriGreen has a variety of rare orchids and tropical plants shipped from the classiness that was France to the wilderness that was Hawaii. It has many marble fountains and the soft music of the rippling water is the melody perfect for students busying themselves in studying. Flowering lianas climbed up MadriGreen's green glass walls, where pink, white, and yellow flowers were given a chance to blossom and give the conservatory a very classy outlook. From up above, the happy sun shone brightly, but the warmth was not scarring—it was in fact soft to the touch. Slow-spinning ceiling fans were installed up above, its function not really to provide air, but instead to add to MadriGreen's over-all European feel.

In the middle of MadriGreen peaceful green surroundings was a lightly-raised podium tiled elegantly with Cahillian designs—there were red twin snakes, yellow dragons, green wolves, and blue boars. On this podium is a long, mahogany table that Grace herself had imported from a business trip in Germany. A white tablecloth is put on top to brighten the brown wood's feel. The seats were elegant and first-class, as well, plush and soft to support the behind and the back. It can seat seven students who could be either studying, or having their free time, or simply just resting their mind from enduring long study hours.

That morning, hours later, when Natalie came into MadriGreen after her schedule in Physical Education with Professor Eisenhower Holt, she felt drained. She approached the table and practically collapsed on her chair beside Ian. Everyone looked up from what they were doing to stare at their newly arrived fellow Elite.

"Whoa," said Hamilton, pausing from doing one-handed push-ups on the floor to look at Natalie. She looked like a wilted flower that hadn't been watered for centuries. "What did my father make you do now? Run a ten-mile hike? A thousand push-ups? A hundred laps at the one-kilometre pool?"

"Ian," the young female Lucian said, obviously too tired to bother replying to Hamilton. "I _need_ to have a sip of fresh Darjeeling tea from Fortnum and Mason _right now,_ or perhaps Keemun would be good—the variety from China, of course, the tea leaves produced there has a rather intoxicating aroma—else your dearest fabulous sister is going to die _parched_. And it would greatly help if Herend's Chinoiserie is the tea set used. Hmm, or perhaps Empress Maria Teresa's Vienna Rose tea set collection would do, as well."

"Ugh, will you _stop_ babbling about _teacups?_ My brain hurts."

"Shut up, Daniel! Anyway, that stupid Dolt who calls himself professor made me run three— _three!_ —laps around the school campus _along_ with the regular students. Along with the regular students! Those _regulars_ kept laughing at me and saying I couldn't even run. If only I was allowed to reveal my dart gun. They didn't recognize me as _the_ Natalie Kabra, the beautiful Lucian student of the Elite Seven!"

"How was the session with Professor Holt, Natalie?" Ian asked absently as he merely continued reading whatever was on the screen of his laptop.

"Didn't I just say? Terrible." She shuddered. That pretty much seemed to sum it all up.

"Thank goodness our grades are mostly computed from the results we get on Lucian subjects, then," muttered Ian, still absently. "Or else you'd be immediately kicked out of the Elite Seven once Professor Holt gets the chance to grade you based on your Tomas abilities."

"You're dead right," Hamilton agreed. Then he looked at Natalie. "I can barely imagine you running on those weak legs of yours."

"I do not prefer the term _weak_ ," grumbled Natalie. "More like refined and worthy of a royal."

"Tsk," said Dan with a shake of head as he returned to his Wi-Fi infested phone, distractedly typing up a snarky response to the new online friend he just found on NinjasUnite dot com's chatroom. (His username was Naidraug, and he had a whole lot of awesome knowledge about guns and snipers and revolvers and all other sorts of pistols. Naidraug is, like, the awesomest person he'd ever found on the internet). He looked away from his phone for a while as he looked at Natalie with a mocking smirk. "That's just another way of saying that, _weakling_."

"No. Royal."

"Weakling."

"Am not."

"Are too!"

"Am not, _Daniel_ , you American _cretin!_ "

"Huh?" Dan obviously did not know the meaning of 'cretin'. "Is that a compliment?"

"Ugh," moaned Natalie. "I am surrounded by idiots."

Dan paused thoughtfully. Then, Hamilton came across to a lightbulb moment.

"Ah, I get it!" said the Tomas. "So cretin means idiot?"

Natalie gave up.

"'Love sought is good, but given unsought better'," mumbled Jonah from under his breath as he held an old book reverently in his gold-ringed hands.

Amy perked up. "Shakespeare's Twelfth Night!" she said, eyes bright.

Sinead groaned as she pushed away a book from her. "Would you keep those downright stupid lines to yourself, Wizard? You're distracting Amy here. We're studying math."

" _Stupid?_ " said an incredulous Jonah. "You're calling Shakespearean lines stupid? Willie Shakespeare's the only Madrigal dude I've ever known who's actually _worthy_ of being a Janus. And you're calling the Great Bard of Avon _stupid?_ "

Sinead sighed. Being the innovative Ekaterina that she was, she could never understand what it is about artists and writers, the Janus in general. She could tolerate music—in fact, Beethoven's Symphony no. 8 is a personal favourite, it being an effective mental stimulator and all, but _why_ do the Janus waste their time painting useless pictures, or writing useless fiction works? With all their great Cahillian minds, they should be inventing something that could _change_ the world, and _not_ making it shallower by writing how a boy and a girl fell in tragic romance and all that sentimental abstract entities, aka _blah_.

"Oh, wait, I just remembered something," said Amy, who looked thoughtful for a second, interrupting Sinead's train of thought. "It was announced just earlier morning that the Student Council President is replaced by this girl Cara Pierce, since Eriele Cienfuegos is suspended for two weeks." She looked at Ian. "So that means Eriele was _actually_ the Student Council President?"

"What a good role model Cienfuegos was," huffed Ian.

"A corrupt president," satirised Sinead with a typical eye-roll. "How cliché could that get?"

The rest of the Elites snickered at the sarcastic jest. Sinead, Amy, and Ian had retold them the tale about the three suspended girls because of having attempted to cheat by hacking the university's test database. It set an example to all Cahill University students not to imitate the cheating threesome.

"I didn't know that we actually had a Student Council," mumbled Dan, voicing out what everyone else was currently thinking.

"That bunch of gimcrackery composed of _regular_ students? Of course you wouldn't know _them_ ," said Natalie, who still obviously felt very hateful towards the regulars. "Student Council. They have a fancy name, but they are unnoticed by the society. Those poor little weevils claim that they have control over the campus, parading around like pompous purposeless peacocks, but really, they don't do anything except loaf around their rotten clubhouse they call an office. With _us_ around, oh, we of Cahill University's prestigious Elite Seven, the stupid Student Council will always, _always_ rank below us." Natalie snapped her fingers. "Below us. Second."

Amy didn't know why, but she felt a bit offended by that.

" _Don't call us Rank Two!"_

The words did not come from Amy's mouth. Shocked, Amy and everyone else's heads turned to the source of the words, and there they found a regular student, a girl, standing in front of a row of seven more students behind her, lined up in a very militaristic fashion, each face grave and stern. Each student had a different colour of necktie to indicate their branches, their branch crest engraved on their breast pockets. The leader, the girl in front of them, wore a yellow necktie bearing the Ekaterina crest, and her fierce green gaze seemed to be able to pierce right through the walls.

Every Elite was wondering how in the world these people suddenly got in here without them noticing.

Ian, always being the first at anything, was the first to break the silence by clearing his throat. "And who, perchance, might you be?"

The unrecognized Ekaterina was struck with shock after that. So were the other students behind her.

"What in the…you don't _know_ us?" demanded the girl. "You _seriously_ don't know us?"

"Um," said Natalie, "if you excuse me, unlike you, we are not stupid. My brother here wouldn't ask you who you are if we _actually_ knew you in the first place, would he?"

"Wait," interrupted Dan, the gears behind his head spinning rapidly. "I think…I think I know you. Um…you're that girl behind the counter in the arcade I saw yesterday?"

The crickets suddenly decided it was time for a musical.

"…Eriele was right," the girl finally managed to mumble after Dan's absurd proclamation. "You Litters _are_ pompous purposeless peacocks parading around the campus _hogging_ all the glory, when all you actually do is loaf around this stupid rotten place you call the MadriGreen Conservatory while us regular students are all studying our heads off in the normal classrooms like _normal_ students."

Natalie suddenly coughed violently and Ian had to go to his sister's side and gently thump her on the back, asking her to calm down.

"Please," said Ian, sighing dramatically after Natalie's coughs had been soothed by good old Alpine water. He turned to the girl in front of them. "If you came here just to cause trouble, then I am going to have to ask you to leave." Then he arched an eyebrow. "Aren't you regular students supposed to be having classes right now?"

"Who _are_ you, anyway?" added Hamilton.

The blond girl sighed. No choice but to introduce herself, then. She snapped her fingers in the air, and a boy from the row behind her, wearing a green necktie, immediately came forward. He twirled a hand in front of him theatrically to start his introduction.

"This here, my dearest and respected Elite Seven, is the current acting Student Council President Cara Pierce, previous Student Council Vice President, who had just recently replaced former President Eriele Cienfuegos from the position. We are here under the permission of the Elite Seven Chief Executive Cora Wizard. The kind madam had allowed us to present a challenge against you."

Jonah looked up from his _The Life and Times of William Shakespeare_ , blinking cluelessly. "Mom actually _allowed_ you that? She wouldn't even allow _me_ anywhere near her office."

"Argh, you useless Wizard," groaned Sinead. "What's the point of you being the son of the Elite Seven Chief Executive if you can't even keep these pests out of MadriGreen? We're being distracted from studying Descartes' mathematical laws on signs."

" _Pests?_ " fumed Cara. "You have the gall to call the Student Council as _pests?_ The Student Council maintains the peace and order around the school campus here, unlike _you_ Litters who do nothing but cause riots the moment you waltz in through the gates. And you're calling the Student Council as _pests?_ "

Ian held his head in his hands and looked as though he was suffering from a sudden headache. "All this empty talk. Please, Pierce, explain immediately your purpose of—"

"Address me respectfully!" demanded Cara.

Ian's jaw muscles tightened—he was not used to being talked to like that, but for now he would let it pass. "Alright. Miss _President_ Cara Pierce, Your Utmost _Excellency_." He rolled his eyes after he said this part. "Please. Tell us what you came here for."

Cara smirked at Ian triumphantly. Ian felt rather queer, being the one smirked at. It was different from being smirked at by Amy—when Amy smirked, she wasn't really being evil or sarcastic on purpose, and Ian knew that the kind Madrigal couldn't possibly hold on to a smirk for more than five seconds. Amy's smirk did nothing but made him want to laugh at her. But this girl, Cara Pierce, she was different. She had the impression of being despotic. Almost like him. Usually _he_ was the one who smirked down despotically on people. That was _his_ job. His legacy. But this lowly girl was stealing that job from him. And she was an _American_. He shuddered. How dare she? He suddenly felt the urge to slap that smirk off of this girl's smug face. Was this how Amy felt like towards him all the time?

He did not want to answer that.

"We all know that the University Founders' Festival is upon us," started Cara. "Mere days away."

Dan checked his mental calendar. "Not _days_ , stupid. We still have two weeks."

Cara clenched her fists. "Allow me to finish," she snapped. Then, satisfied of the subsequent silence, she continued by clearing her throat. "So. We, the Student Council, have been spreading petitions to all students since yesterday. It was my first act as president. The petition's content was that, for the upcoming University Founders' Festival, the Student Council and the Elite Seven, for once in Cahill University's history, are going to compete against each other, as entertainment for the rest of the students."

"A competition between the Elites and the Student Council?" asked Amy. "What kind?"

"Ooh, ooh! Wrestling?" asked Hamilton, a bit too excitedly.

"Singing?" asked Jonah, eyes brightening.

"A science fair?" asked Sinead.

"Chess?" asked Ian and Natalie in unison.

"Awesome paintball wars inside a Star Wars-themed labyrinth in Tokyo's Ninja Academy—plus kickbutt lightsabers that could actually slice an enemy in half for _real?!_ "

Everybody from the Elite Seven groaned. "Dweeb," they all said together.

Dan gave an innocent grin. Well. Fanboys gotta live it.

"Listen!" shouted Cara. "Honestly. _All_ of you are dweebs. Anyway, so the competition. We regular students petitioned that the Student Council and the Elite Seven are going to be competing against each other in the University Founders' Festival in the next two weeks. We presented it to Madame Cora Wizard, and she agreed. And so, the entire body of the Student Council have come here to formally challenge you, the Elite Seven, in a competition."

"You still haven't told us what kind of a competition this is," Ham pointed out.

"I'm getting to that, Hamilton _Dolt_!" Cara burst out. Then, calming herself down, she returned to herself. "Okay. I am speaking in behalf of the whole Student Council. I've come here to formally challenge you, the Litters—oh, sorry, _Elite_ Seven, in a competition of deciding which between the two of us is greater. The Founders' Festival is three days long. We will accommodate the rest of the students with entertainment that we ourselves would have to organize in two weeks' time. Then, at the end of the Festival's third day, the rest of the students would be deciding who between Student Council or the Elite Seven is _better_ at organizing the Festival—and it would be then when they shall see that truth behind the two of us."

Cara Pierce was looking straight at Ian Kabra, who stared just as pointedly right back at her. The rest of the Student Council turned to look at Cara, their leader, while the rest of the Elite's eyes turned to their first honours student, Ian Kabra, who naturally became _their_ leader. Ian sighed.

"Normally I wouldn't receive such a ridiculous challenge," he said.

Cara sneered. "Because you're such a hopeless dingbat, that is."

Ian's jaw tightened as he forced his body to give him more patience. "No, Miss President, I am not a hopeless dingbat. I am just worried about you."

"And why on Earth would you be?"

A smirk blossomed on his lips. "Because, Cara Pierce, when you lose, it would be the most traumatic event in your life. You would be trembling in absolute fear, and you would never wish to come out of your room again, fearing the terrifying monsters that lurked behind the darkness of the door."

Cara narrowed her eyes. "And why would _we_ lose? Huh?"

"Simply because it is the Elite Seven whom you are challenging."

Cara, along with the rest of the Student Council members, fumed silently. Then their acting president spoke for them all. "You!" she shouted, pointing a finger at Ian Kabra, her current target for death at the moment. "You will be defeated by the Student Council, just you wait! You will eat all your words! You fight us being the pompous Litters you are, while _we_ fight _you_ , being the fair and square regulars we are. And if—no, _when_ we win, you wouldn't dare look down on us anymore. You will give us the respect we deserve. We won't be second to you anymore!"

It was then when Amy looked as if she was suddenly struck by a cold block of ice that immediately thawed with warmth.

Second. _Second_.

That was the keyword.

Amy looked at Cara with a mix of amazement and admiration brewing in her green eyes. This girl was so…similar to her, and she felt a magnetic tug pull her towards the acting student president.

So, the Madrigal walked forward, down the podium, and put a hand onto Cara's shoulder. Cara immediately looked alert, as if expecting an attack to suddenly come from the stranger in front of her, but Amy, being the peace-loving Madrigal she was, smiled.

"I'm joining forces with you, President Pierce," she proclaimed.

All concerned members of the Elite Seven simultaneously shot up from their chairs and pounded onto the mahogany table in protest.

" _WHAT?!"_

(Natalie, who didn't have a care in the world, merely looked at her nails. Painted a Lucian red, of course, by only the best manicurist from Paris. She had them almond-shaped, polished like diamond, glossed to perfection, and—nonono wait. Is that a _stain?_ )

" _Amy!_ " yelled Dan, waving his arms in the air as if he was suddenly a military commanding officer. "Negative! Veto! Retreat!"

Natalie stopped examining her nails and instead rubbed the bridge of her nose exasperatedly with two of her delicate fingers. Expect Daniel Cahill to make professional military terms sound like his typical idiocies. "Oh, stop that, you git. My head hurts."

" _Whatever!"_ Dan shouted, then turned to Amy."You're going to lose there!"

Amy defiantly put her hands onto her hips. "Oh, really? We'll see."

Ian's face was immediately stern and he took a few worried steps towards her. "Amy. What are you doing? Are you feeling well?"

"Yep, better than ever," she replied. "In fact, I feel such an adrenaline rush right now that I feel it in my veins that I'm _finally_ going to defeat you."

"But…" Cara was still shell-shocked and was staring at Amy with wide eyes. "But why are you doing this?"

Amy smiled, turned around, and tapped Cara on the shoulder. Cara's eyes widened even more as her hand unconsciously went up to the shoulder that Amy had just touched. What a peculiar feeling.

" _Because_ , obviously!" continued the cheery girl, oblivious to Cara's shock. "We have the same goal, Cara. I think we're going to be friends. Dethrone the Kabra from first place!"

Ian suddenly felt so annoyed as he had never been in his entire life. He clenched his fist. "Pierce, is this even valid?" he demanded. Then, he turned to Amy. "Don't be ridiculous, Miss Rank Two. Come back to the Elite Seven. Here is where you belong."

"Ah, you stay right there, Ames," said Sinead, who walked towards Amy and Cara and joined their team. "Because I'm teaming up with you. I feel like wanting to dethrone that Kabra as well."

" _WHAT?!"_ gasped the remaining Elites.

"Yes, Sinead!" cheered Amy.

"Sinead?!" said Hamilton. "Not you, too!"

"Why dost thou betray us?" wailed Jonah.

"Seriously, you two, come back over here," pleaded Dan.

Ian strained to keep his patience.

"Your reasoning is faulty, Amy and Sinead. All of us should be working as Elites," said Ian as gently as he could, trying to coax his two lost members back to him. "Please. Leave those second-class students and—"

Amy firmly shook her head, getting more and more riled up the more people around here said the _S_ word. "Nope. Sinead and I have made up our mind."

"Welcome, then, welcome!" Cara shook hands with her two newfound members with a competitive smile onto her face and looked at Ian, triumphant. "If you wuss need them _that_ much, is it because _they'd_ be winning this competition for you? Huh? Can't you win this without them?"

Ian stared at Cara, his amber eyes narrow and apparently screaming only two words.

Challenge accepted.

"This is a competition, then," he said, finally. "A competition that you will lose. And, Amy, mark my words—I will _make_ you regret joining forces with this member-stealing second-class Ekaterina."

"Don't call me second-class!" fumed Cara, who was getting redder and redder on the cheeks.

"I won't regret anything," countered Amy determinedly.

"Are you willing to bet for it?"

"Yes!"

"Fine, then." It was at that moment when the anger in Ian dissipated into a dark cruelty. "If _you_ win, along with the Student Council, you are free to command me of anything you command me. But…" he smirked at her then, only this time, that smirk, instead of being full of himself, was dripping of condescension…and evilness. Amy thought she suddenly felt fear. "But, if _I_ win, along with the remaining Elite Seven, you are going to obey whatever command I command you."

Amy felt blood drain her face.

"What? But I…I…"

This was a rather dangerous bet. Amy had never exactly bested Ian in the past, and betting that she would come out first right now wouldn't exactly be a guarantee. She was still confident she could defeat him, but if you consider the concept behind the theory of probability…

Zero.

"Lovely," chuckled Ian, Lucian evilness seeping from him. Amy had forgotten how cutting Ian could be with people he didn't feel so nice to talk to. "Afraid to bet now, aren't we, Amy Cahill?"

"N…no."

"Let me hear you say it louder."

"No. I'm…n-not afraid to m-m-make a bet with you."

"Again."

"No. I'm not afraid."

"How weak. With conviction, please."

" _No!_ " shouted Amy, finally. "I am _not_ afraid to make a bet with you, and in fact I'm already agreeing with your terms!"

Ian's lips stretched into a satisfied smirk. "One down." He turned to Sinead. "How about you, Starling? Do you agree with my terms?"

Sinead almost tumbled over thin air at that. "What?" she spluttered. And it took a lot to make Sinead Starling splutter. "What are you talking about? I'm in this too?"

"Of course you are," said Ian, matter-of-factly. "If I don't include you in this bargain, you, Sinead, my fellow Elite, who is foolishly joining forces with the underdogs of the Student Council, wouldn't be learning your lesson. And it falls onto my shoulders to teach you that lesson—the lesson that you should _never_ compete against me. But apparently since you're going to, anyway, you should agree to my terms." He arched an eyebrow at her questioningly. "Unless of course you're confident that you're going to win, you wouldn't be afraid to…."

"Of course I'm confident!" said Sinead. "Amy and I and the rest of the Student Council will fight you and make you eat your words. We'll do this fair. If I lose, I'd do whatever you want. But if _you_ lose, you would do whatever _I_ want."

"Oh, I wouldn't need you to do anything for me. Anyone in the Elite could take you." Ian's eyes glared pointedly into Amy's. "All I want here is Miss Rank Two."

Amy clenched her fists and started sweating. All her life she'd been confident in every challenge she had with Ian Kabra. But now that a bet was involved, she started feeling nervous. For the first time.

Cara Pierce clapped her hands happily. "That's settled, then!" she said. Then, she hooked her arms with Amy's and Sinead's. "Let's go to our office and start planning. As early as possible would be best."

Sinead laughed. "And we'll squash that Kabra like a bug under our shoes! No more first place for that arrogant snake!" She turned to Amy. "Right, Ames?"

Amy nervously chuckled, forcing herself to feel the same confidence she felt just a while ago. "Y-yes…we should…defeat him…that Ian…heh…"

Then, Amy, Sinead, Cara, and the rest of the Student Council disappeared behind MadriGreen's glass doors, the rest of the remaining Elites staring after them openmouthedly.

"Close your mouths, all of you, unless you want a fly waltzing right into that reeking bodily canal of yours," said Natalie to the boys.

Hamilton managed to snap his jaw back up. "Seriously. What were those two thinking?"

Jonah was feeling quite the same. "Man, I can't believe it. They actually joined the Student Council and left us all alone."

"Eh, don't worry, let those two dumb girls do what they want," said Dan, apparently _not_ pleased of her sister's decision to leave him here alone. "We're going to defeat that stupid Student Council, anyway. I'm sure of it. Right, Ian?" Then, he looked around. He didn't see the Lucian anywhere. "…Ian?"

Jonah blinked as he tried to look around him himself. No sign of the Kabra. "Uh, where'd he just go?"

Natalie yawned, delicate fingers gracefully covering her mouth. "He's going to start planning as well. Worry not, he would _never_ let the Student Council win—especially since his Miss Lovely Rank Two had him obviously riled up."

Hamilton looked shocked. "He's planning? Already?"

" _Without_ us?" Jonah added. "I thought this is a team competition."

"Ian likes to work alone." Natalie's eyes grew distant as she said that, but then immediately snapped back into reality. "We all might as well just sit here and wait while sipping non-existent Darjeeling tea. The Elites' victory is assured, anyway."

Jonah slowly sat back into his chair at that, and sank into the foam.

…tea?

"How boring."

* * *

_The Student Council Office_ _  
_ _A week later_

"I hate him," mumbled Amy, as she worked on the pink, paper flowers with the whole Student Council beside her, working just as vigorously. Amy worked faster and faster with each sentence of hatred that came out of her mouth, as if they were the fuel and she was a grinder. They were on the floor and they were all surrounded by mountains of pink paper flowers and lots more of decorations. "I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, _I hate him!_ "

The members of the Student Council beside her worked silently, sweat-dropping all the way. Amy was scary when she was angry.

"That's the spirit, Amy," encouraged Sinead, after she hung up from the phone. Well, the Starling was, after all, just as determined as Amy to bring their first honours student down together. "We'll make that Kabra suffer alone in defeat. The cotton candy stand you thought of is going to be _great_ —I'm sure the students will be voting for us. I've already finished making the transaction with the dealer. The cotton candy should be ready next week for the P.R. of our reception party. We are _so_ going to win this."

"Yes, Sinead!" said Amy competitively, bringing her fist up in the air. "He will see. We _need_ to defeat him, and we will!"

"Um…" said a doubtful Cara, unsure of how to break it to her newfound friends. She brought up a small pink paper flower in her hand and brought it in front of the Madrigal's face. "Amy. What is this…stuff, anyway?"

"Decorations for the festival, obviously!"

"Ahh…about that," the new president said uncomfortably. "For the reception party last year, we invited VIPs and specially booked a reception hall. We did nothing like…er…" She gestured at the scattered mountains of pink flowers. "…this."

"Oh? Is that so?" said Amy, cocking her head to the side innocently. She was ever the clueless one when it came to social occasions like this. "Then why didn't you say anything?"

Cara's eye twitched. _Are we_ seriously _going to win with this…_

"P-P-President!" a Student Council member suddenly said to interrupt her train of thought.

Cara turned around to look at her secretary. "What are you stammering about, Stefan?"

The secretary lifted a shaking finger to point at the door. Cara, Sinead, Amy, and everyone else swivelled their head around to follow the direction of the finger, and then froze at the evil sight before them.

Ian Kabra.

"I simply came to check how my rivals are doing," he said, simply, arms crossed and eyes closed, answering all their unvoiced questions. Then he smirked and gestured to the pink mess about him. "But it's worse than I imagined."

Cara, Sinead, and Amy's jaws dropped on the floor in unison. Just how arrogant can he be?

Cara stood up to represent what all of them are thinking. "You. Get out. Unlike you, who's slacking around, _we're_ actually working hard for the preparations. Did you come here to steal our ideas for the reception party, you dumb weasel?"

"No, I did not," Ian replied, sighing, putting his hands into his trouser pockets casually. "I came here to give you even the slightest chance of winning. You are so pathetic that even I, a _Lucian_ , no less, felt pity for you."

"G-give us the s-s- _slightest_ chance of _winning?!_ " blurted Amy. "I tell you, _you're_ going to lose!"

He ignored that threat. "Here is my advice. Don't use cotton candy as your PR's object of honour. There are many other things that are better than that."

"Well," said Amy uncertainly, "that may be true, but…."

"Nonsense!" said Sinead, who found it suspicious that Ian was trying to advise them something. Either he _really_ thought they were idiots, or that he was trying to make them lose by making them follow whatever he was going to say. Since she didn't really find the first option very palatable, Sinead preferred to settle with the second one. "Nobody here listen to him. We are doing cotton candy no matter what. And _you_ , you slimy Kabra. Do you _really_ expect us to follow your advice and fall right into your trap? How stupid are you?"

"The concept of a cotton candy stand isn't well-thought out," he continued, as if he hadn't heard Sinead at all. "It is borderline undeveloped. Whoever thought of it is stupid."

Sinead lifted her chin triumphantly. " _Amy_ was the one who thought of it."

Ian froze at this. Sinead smirked. She knew his weak spot, alright.

" _Sinead!_ " hissed a blushing Amy, embarrassed.

Ian awkwardly cleared his throat, getting a bit pink on the cheeks himself. "Ah…well, not _stupid_ , per se, perhaps…less than brilliant. Anyway. So, I suggest you change it to something that is actually worth rivalling the grand plans of the Elite Seven. Just please don't do cotton candy. It's stu…ah…less than brilliant."

"How dare you insult us!" shouted Cara. "That's it! We're doing cotton candy, and you aren't changing our minds, you dingbat!"

Ian shook his head, as if miserably. "Honestly…"

"Wait." It was Amy. "Ian?"

"Yes?"

"I…I just want to say…sorry."

He arched an eyebrow, interested. "For what?"

"For…for leaving you and the Elites all alone."

Ian was suddenly struck by that, as if by Cupid's arrow through the heart. His hard eyes softened as he looked at Amy gently. He had to be honest—for the past few days the MadriGreen had become quite a tedious place to be without Amy there to tease around. That was actually the primary reason he decided to step foot into the regular students' building for once—to see her.

"Amy…I…"

But then the delicate and intimate moment was shattered when Amy competitively brought up a fist.

"But of course I'm _still_ not letting you win," she announced, confidently. There was nothing but a wildfire practically burning in her eyes. "I'm working alongside the Student Council, and no matter what you do, you are not going to coax me back into your team. That is what I live for, Ian Kabra. To. Defeat. You!"

Ian's eye twitched in profound disappointment. "What…had just…"

"Ha, you _really_ caught him there, Ames!" laughed Sinead, slapping her friend on the back playfully. Amy laughed along with her, mocking Ian who just stood across them. "Did you see the look on his _face?_ He really thought you're trying to go back! It's like you've just splashed hydrochloric acid all over his face!"

For a moment, Ian was motionless. The seconds seemed to stretch into minutes. The subsequent silence was deadening. The rest actually came to wonder if he's suddenly become a stone statue. But then that's when the shoulder vibrations began. Slowly. The shoulder vibrations were almost as if Ian was…crying. But then, after that, Ian Hollingsworth Kabra of the Lucian Branch suddenly burst out laughing an evil laugh.

Sinead, Amy, and the Student Council shrank as one and gulped their fear before this Ian Kabra-transformed-evil-warlord before them.

Ian stopped his diabolical laughing and settled for a smirk. "Very well, then," he said, still with that evil sneer. His liking for Amy had been abused, and he would not let these lowly girls have fun with his feelings being played at with every turn. It was time for _him_ to start playing the game—time for him to start using his special chess piece that could go across the whole chequerboard in one move. Which was himself, by the way. "Very well. If Miss Lovely Rank Two can actually defeat me by teaming up with _these_ lowly underdogs, then please, _please,_ Miss Rank Two, _do_ so. Go ahead."

"…he usually repeats himself when he's upset," Amy observed, muttering to Sinead. Sinead nodded back her agreement.

Cara stepped forward, her face red and angry. "Who are _you_ calling lowly underdogs?!"

Ian merely shooed her away as he stepped forward towards Amy. Cara was incredulous at being shooed away like diaper garbage, but Ian didn't really care. He focused his eyes on Amy's angry green ones. "If you're willing to go that far, then, Amy, I am, too." He smiled cruelly. "I will now start taking this competition seriously, since you seemed to have _really_ formed a bond with these second-worthy people who are very similar to your eternally-second-Elite-status. Join these second-class people so that your lovely secondness would be multiplied a hundredfold once I defeat you, Miss Lovely Rank Two, Queen of All Secondly Secondariness. I will enjoy the sight of your defeat as you suffer in your secondly despair."

" _Wh-what did you say?!"_ That was too many _S-_ words in one breath that Amy felt so stark raving mad.

"And while you're at it," he continued with a deadly calmness, "you may rally as many helpers as you like. Bring the whole _world_ with you against me if you like. But I tell you. It would all be futile."

He started to walk away.

"H-h-how DARE you!" Amy shouted after him. "Take that back, Ian! _IAN!_ "

"Please lower your volumes. You're being very loud, and are disturbing the others who are taking classes."

"F-f-f— _FINE_ THEN!" said Amy, not lowering her volumes at all. " _Fine!_ If y-you're willing to go that far, then _I_ challenge _you!_ "

Ian simply smirked, then walked out of the room altogether, infuriating Amy even further and fuelling her desire to defeat him. Oh, how she hated that smirk! She wanted to slap it off his face and see it deflate all over the floor like a month-old balloon! So, just as soon as Ian had stepped out, she marched forward and slammed the door, locking her and Sinead and the rest of the Student Council inside the room for the rest of the week, determined to bring down the rival who had been undermining her capabilities for countless of years now, determined to prove to him just how _wrong_ he was, determined to slap that smirk off of his face for _real_ this time.

…but, little did she know, that as Ian walked farther away, his smirk had already gone.

* * *

_The MadriGreen Conservatory_

"So?" asked Dan eagerly as Ian approached their table. "Did you bring them back?"

"No," he said, emotionlessly, taking his seat and opening his laptop to immediately start getting to work. "They refused."

Ian purposefully left out the fact that what he actually did was provoke them.

Jonah was hysterical. "This shouldn't be how this works out! The Elites should be working together! _Kabra_! Get your butt out there again and _drag_ them here if you have to!"

There was a long, beeping sound that came from Ian's laptop computer as it booted.

"No," Ian said simply.

"But how can we help? How can _I_ help?" Jonah insisted. He learned from years of being a celebrity that cooperation is a must—whether it be shooting a film, or setting up a concert, or even simply recording a new album, it all required teamwork. In a film, there's the actor, the director, the one in charge of the lights, sounds, script; in a concert, there must be the singer, the choreographer, the back-up dancers, the stage designers, the lights and sounds director; and in recording an album, there must be the singer, the lyricist, the entire recording company. Even the simplest extras are, like, _extremely_ important, because they are the ones who create the mood, the _atmosphere_ of the setting. If even one were missing, then the highest quality of the outcome itself would be impossible to reach.

And besides, this could be his mother's way of trying to make things up to him: Jonah now had the chance of getting to work with the classmates that he was to spend the entire year with. And he had to take this once in a lifetime opportunity of socialization. Maybe the reason his mother had approved of the Elite Seven vs. Student Council competition was to tighten the loose, competitive bonds of their group's seven members and push them to become friends. Jonah liked that. Maybe his mother _did_ care for his wants after all. But to think that Sinead and Amy had instead chosen the _other_ side…it twisted Jonah's stomach. They didn't know at all how important it is for him that they were all in this together. If he can't have classmates in a classroom, then the least he could do was try to unite their small group's members. But no. Instead of helping each other, they were trying to _destroy_ each other. A prime example was Ian Kabra and Amy Cahill, fighting over the stupid first place recognition in every single little thing.

And how ironic is it that a Madrigal would actually be the one breaking the unity of the Elites to join forces with the enemy? He just didn't get it.

Then he looked down at Ian. And this Kabra. This…this…this _gasbag_. He was being an Elite Jerk. He deserved to be first place, alright—first place in the Thicko Department. Ian wanted to take all the job by himself and was practically telling all the rest that all they would have to do was wait and win. This attitude annoyed Jonah. Who does this Kabra think he was, Superman? Jonah didn't like leaving things alone to someone else when he knew that _he_ was entirely capable of sharing hands. If only Ian just stopped swatting him away…

…stopped _rejecting_ him like his mother had always done…

"Hey, Kabra, you heard me, didn't you?" he insisted once more. "What can I do to help?"

But, it was then when Ian snapped. He stopped typing and sharply jerked his head up to meet the Wizard's brown eyes. "Don't think," he stressed, his accent thickening dangerously, "that just because you're Jonah _Wizard_ , every person in the whole world has to fawn over you. Not I. You're nothing to me but a figure of empty fame. I _don't_ need your help. Need I elaborate?"

Jonah bit his lip. Okay. That hurt.

Rejection always does.

Ian merely held his gaze at him, intent on making his fellow Elite melt down onto the floor in mortification with the intensity of those amber eyes of his. Jonah stared right back at him. The Janus stayed that way for a second, inwardly debating if he should shoot back down at him a retort or not, but then, as he realized that he could never possibly defeat a Lucian in a staring match, Jonah eventually just decided to turn his head away and sit down defeatedly without another word.

Silence followed after that. Satisfied, Ian returned typing to his computer.

"You know, Ian," started Natalie, attempting to fill up the silent air. "This is just another one of your and Amy's petty competitions. For the past week— _years_ —you've arguing over first place in every single little thing. Usually you're in a bright mood whenever Amy challenges you. But…" She folded her hands onto her lap like a delicate noblewoman as she tried to compose her sentence with the correct words. "…you're not acting yourself this time."

Hamilton looked thoughtful as he looked up from his Sports History book. He may not be a great reader, but one would be surprised to know that he actually loved reading—of course, only when it came to how his cool Tomas ancestors actually came up with basketball, or volleyball, or athletics, and all the other sports that he was so fond of playing. They might not be artistic, strategic, or scientific geniuses, but he was _so_ glad to have been born a Tomas—all the others don't know what they're missing. He laid down his book for a while to express his half-genuine concern to a classmate.

"Yeah, Kabra. This is my first time being an Elite, but being a regular student all my life, I knew how famous you and Amy are in the regular circles. Usually you are in a bright mood whenever Amy challenges you. But now you're not. I'm guessing you're upset. Are you upset, Ian? You look like you're upset."

Ian's answer was mechanical. "Upset? Did you say upset? No. I'm not upset. Why in the world would I be upset?"

"How many 'upsets' was that?"

"Four. He just repeated the word 'upset' for four times."

"Four. That means death in Chinese."

"Okie-dokie then. It's confirmed."

"He's upset."

Silence followed after the Elites' little ramblings. Only the sound of Ian's tapping over the keyboard could be heard.

Jonah stretched out his arms and legs into the air, looking as if he'd already moved on from his little argument with Ian. He was a Janus, after all, and one must know that they are just as good actors as the Lucians were. "This is _boring_. How can we help, Ian?"

Silence.

It was tiring, really, all this boringly unresponsive silence.

"Ah, well," said Natalie, standing up, obviously itching for a change of subject. "Would anyone like to accompany me to the library? There are a few fashion magazines I need to borrow."

"Great idea," said Dan, standing up as well. "I think I'm going to check out my online ninja grade in the computer section."

"I'll go too," said Hamilton, raising his hand as if in class. He pushed his chair back as he stood up, grabbing the other books from his area on the long mahogany table. "I don't want these to go past their due dates again."

"Ehhh…" said Jonah uncertainly, but he stood up from his chair nonetheless to join everyone else. "Might as well continue composing this new song there."

Everyone stood together, and they looked at Ian, who was hunched over his computer.

"Ian?" said Natalie. "Would you like to join us?"

"You may go," he said, simply.

Jonah smiled, though sadly. "Well, then, if you need our help, we'll just be in the library."

Then they disappeared behind the glass doors.

Once they were gone, Ian sat back in his chair. He faced the ceiling with an already exhausted sigh. He held his forehead with an index finger in a clearly stressed manner, closing his eyes to give them a bit of an initial rest before plunging himself to a sea of work. He would be closing himself to the outside world, and this would surely become a long week.

"It's better doing it alone, anyway."

* * *

The moment they were outside the MadriGreen Conservatory where they were all effectively out of Ian's earshot, all of them immediately stopped pretending that they wanted to go to the library and turned to Natalie, circling her like hounds on a prey.

"So," said Jonah, rubbing his palms together. "What's the plan?"

Dan and Hamilton nodded fiercely alongside Jonah.

Natalie looked genuinely confused as to why her companions suddenly seemed like ravenous dogs eager to be rewarded with a bone. "What plan?"

"You brought us all out here because you have a plan, right?" asked Hamilton. "There's no way we wouldn't help Ian in this. You're his sister. Surely you wouldn't want him to work on this alone?"

"Right," agreed Dan. "I don't want to say this, but Ian had a point there—we have to teach Sinead and Amy a lesson _never_ to separate themselves away from us. So we need to win. And we have to help."

"How noble of you, Daniel," said Natalie, rolling her eyes.

"Pfft, I just don't want that selfish Kabra taking all the credit."

Natalie rubbed her temples and looked as though she was suddenly so exhausted of explaining an explanation she'd already explained a thousand times before. "Is it testosterone that makes men such blockheads? I told you. There's no need for us to work. Ian works best when alone. The best way we could help him is by not helping at all."

There was a pause as the three men tried to process that.

"…does that even make any sense?"

"Shut up, Daniel."

"I'm just saying! And anyway, how do you know he could do it all alone?"

"And how can y'all be so sure that we're going to win if we're not even going to go and help?" asked Jonah.

"Yeah! How do you know?" asked Hamilton, who didn't trust himself in composing a question as long as Jonah's.

Natalie rolled her eyes, then answered all their questions with one sentence: "Because I'm his sister, you American git."

Jonah, Hamilton, and Dan looked at each other. They were all Americans, but didn't know which among them Natalie had just referred to as a git.

"But," she continued, amber eyes suddenly downcast. "I may know why he is upset."

"And…why is that?" asked Dan, when Natalie refused to elaborate further.

* * *

Amy was just walking through the hallways with a giant plastic bag of pink decorations on both her hands when she came across Natalie.

"Oh, hey there, Natalie," said Amy with a smile. "Why are you here?"

"A visit from the library," she said.

"Library?" Amy mused. "Why would you be in the library? Aren't you busy helping Ian with your preparations for the Founders' Festival?"

"No. He can do it by himself." Natalie gave her a brief smirk as she walked away. "I've never seen him so moody because of a peasant."

Amy arched an eyebrow at Natalie's direction as the female Kabra walked away and disappeared from her sight. Moody because of a peasant? What did that mean? And, _'He can do it by himself,'_ Natalie had just said. Does that mean Ian was working on this alone?

Amy shook her head to dispose of those thoughts. No. She should focus on the competition. It was impossible for a person to work on a grand university festival all _alone_ —how absurd could that sound like? And besides, what fun would working alone be? That's what festivals are exactly made of—fun. So, when Amy happily burst into the Student Council Office with the decorations she'd been making from the other room, she said,

"All right, everybody! Let's take Kabra down together!"

Sinead, Cara, and the rest of the Student Council members put their hands together in the middle and shouted their passionate teamwork.

"Yes! Victory is ours!"

Amy laughed. See?

What fun would it be working on it alone?


	6. Showdown

Ian Kabra's spacious working office had been especially built for him by his parents. His father, Vikram, said that it was so that he could get used to professional surroundings, especially since he would be the one inheriting their family's business firms one day. He had to get used to the consequential glooms of work and management, because such were the price to pay for being the heir of the Vikratech Institute and the Magni Corporations.

And tonight was one of those nights where the usual golden ambers in Ian Kabra's acute eyes were washed away into monochrome by the pale blue light emitted by the glowing screen of his laptop. His tired eyes were submerged in gigabytes of digital words, numbers, e-mails; and had been operating most hours of the day working on the immaculate details of the Festival's reception party that would soon be labelled as 'organized by the Elite Seven', though in reality, he was the only one working on it. Not that he had any complaints about that. His fingers were currently flying over the keyboard, but his eyes, instead of looking at the words appearing on the screen, were lost in memory.

_"Have you heard?" gossiped a young, freckle-faced obese boy. "That handsome kiddo who always brags about how his 'Mummy' bought him his shiny shoes?"_

" _That one who likes to talk about stupid fashion and_ Prada _? He's like a girl. Is he a girl?"_

" _Oh, oh! I know him! I know him!"_

" _What about him?"_

" _He's Ian Kabra!"_

 _Upon hearing the mention of his own name, the lone seven-year-old boy from far away stopped walking and lifted his eyes up to see three boys talking excitedly to each other in hushed tones, completely unaware of the spectator. Ian continued walking casually, as if engrossed in the pages of the new book his mother gave him,_ The Lucian Code _, when actually his ears were perked up._

" _Yes, that's right!" continued the obese kid. "That boy!"_

" _I know! Ian Kabra is rich. Like, so filthy rich. I can buy all the toys I want if I'm friends with him!"_

_"Really?! I want a Nerf gun!"_

" _You have to be friends with him first!"_

" _Then let's go be friends with him! You know the school project that Miss Danvers is talking about? Maybe we can lure him to our group!"_

_"That's right!" The fat boy with the freckled face laughed, slapping at his thigh as if that was the most brilliant idea he'd ever had in his entire life. "And then that will be the start of our—" he giggled like a lunatic—"friendship!"_

_One boy nudged at him playfully. "You mean_ money _-ship, Bobby?"_

_"Right!"_

Just then, a beep suddenly sounded to break him out of his trance. It took him a moment to realize where he was and realized that, when he peered at the screen, he'd just received a new e-mail from Ciél Blanc, a master of Italianate desserts, one of his international contacts. The short message from Blanc confirmed that the packages have been shipped successfully, all ready for use tomorrow night.

Ian let a smirk break the surface of his face as he finally closed the lid of his laptop for the final time. The work for this day was done.

Those who had dared challenge him better be ready.

* * *

The Founders' Festival is a momentous event in the school calendar of Cahill University. It is, after all, the grand establishment of their historical educational institution, celebrating Gideon and Olivia and their five children, Luke, Katherine, Thomas, Jane, and Madeleine. The entire school is free of classes for a whole week, where the students could prepare their food booths and organize a variety of events significant to the occasion for a duration of three whole days. Then, when the preparations are done, the rest of the week, (excluding Sunday, of course) would be dedicated to no one else but the first Cahills.

Today is the first day of the Founders' Week. Teachers are taking breaks from their classes and students are roaming around the school in their civilian clothes, planning together on a large table, or discussing possible methods to pull off this and that, or getting started on organizing the events. Flags of different colours are being put up in the air as the student volunteers worked together to decorate the campus with different Cahill colours. The High Intensity Performers, or the HIPs, a club composed of Janus dancers, are working up the sweat in perfecting their dancing choreography while the football varsity players, composed of Tomases, worked themselves out in preparation for the incoming game of the sophomores, the Blue Bears, against the juniors, the Blue Boars. (Apparently the Tomases didn't bother looking for a synonym to 'blue' for more team name originality. The Januses practically cringed at the lack of naming artistry.)

By the second day of the preparations, there were banderitas, little triangles hanging up in the air, placed in alternating colours of green, red, yellow, blue, and black—it felt like it was a town fiesta. There were also students who were just starting up their business by building up booths of various kinds—there were food booths, accessory booths, souvenir booths, or t-shirt booths. If you looked down at the entire campus from a really high building, you would see it spotted with busy students running back and forth across the university in an effort to cooperate with everyone else for the preparations.

By the third day, the students were already done putting up their giant tents, whose front curtains were signified by symbols of a yellow dragon, a blue boar, a green wolf, twin-snakes around a sword, or a white M on a black background. The inside of the Lucian tent was the formal atmosphere of a typical dinner party, the Ekaterina one was an exhibit of scientific inventions over the last few years' science fairs, the Tomas tent an arcade of all sorts of games, the Madrigal tent an ominous House of Mirrors, and hidden behind the Janus tent was actually a dance floor with a life-size disco ball. More excitingly, the Ferris wheel, the Swirling Octopus, the Viking Longship, the Merry-Go-Round, and many other rides were already finished being put up by the operators and were ready to be used the next day, the official Founders' Festival. The Merry-Go-Round was for those teens who want to have a throwback moment to feel like a child again.

The Founders' Festival is a fun way to celebrate and remember the students' diverse Cahillian roots. There was a talent show called _Cahills' Got Talent_ showcasing the different abilities of the students from each branch—Jonah Wizard, in fact, was invited to be one of the panels of judges. There was also a series of theatrical presentations entitled _Cahills, a Musical: The Divided Family_ where the story of the ill-fated siblings would once again be retold to enlighten the students of how far the Cahills have come from then to now. There was also a competition called _Mister and Miss Cahill of the Year_ , where a student from each branch and each year level would be exhibiting the beauty and talents they possess as a Cahill—in fact, Natalie Kabra had joined to represent the sophomore Lucians, confident that she would win the year's crown this time and _not_ stupidly trip over her heels like she had last year. (That was a juvenile mistake and it shan't happen again.) The dorms were shuffling with student activities, buzzing with excitement. Even the Cahill Café had decided to participate in the celebration by doing a cosplay event, where the waiters and waitresses had to dress up as Lucians, Ekats, Januses, Tomases, or Madrigals while serving their customers.

There were many more shows that packed the limited schedule of the Founders' Festival that it would be impossible to list them all down here. The organizers of the events made sure to make the festival even grander than last year—all the lights and noise and colours and fun would be thrown into the mix to make sure that not one student is left out, not one student would be bored, and each Cahill is going to be having fun with all the events that had been so diligently prepared by each branch, who all worked together hand-in-hand. There was an excited thrill in the air as everyone waited for the next day to come already. Most hadn't even been able to sleep through the night. They were all thinking about the day when the Founders' Festival would officially begin…

…same as the day of the Elite Seven vs. Student Council Showdown.

* * *

[Elite Seven vs. Student Council Showdown,

Round One: Welcome Campaign.]

The sun had set, ending the morning festivities.

The night had fallen, to signal the start of the party.

All of Cahill University's students of every size, shape, colour, and branch were gathered at the Tomas football arena, the wide, grassy, open space field splashed with the colours of confetti and the yells of the booth vendors where the pitch black sky above was alight by a full-sized silver moon and beautiful, bright stars. The air was full of pop music blasting out from the refrigerator-sized speakers installed in every corner with Jonah Wizard himself heartily DJ-ing the night through, the girls dancing on the floor with their friends while the boys toasted on the Seven Up which they bought from the booths. The fog machines, the spotlights, and the assorted laser lights crisscrossed the space of cheers and noises and chatter and laughter. But just then, the music started to lower, and Jonah had to announce to everyone that one event which they've all been waiting for the whole day.

"…and now, the moment we've all been waitin' for," he dramatically started, "Elite Seven versus the Student Council showdown—Round One: Welcome Campaign!Let's all get this show on the road, will ya?" he addressed the passionate crowd, who started to gather around him, the partymaster. He grinned. He was an expert on this. "Say _Hey, yo!_ "

" _HEY, YO!"_

"Say _Hey, yo!_ "

" _HEY, YO!"_

"Wiz-a-Wiz-a-Wiz— _who?_ "

" _Wiz-a-Wiz-a-Wiz-ARD!"_

"Who-brings-the-ma-gic-in— _you?_ "

" _Wiz-a-Wiz-a-Wiz-ARD!"_

Sinead scoffed to herself. "What are we now, an African tribe driving away ancient evil spirits?"

From behind the passionately responsive crowd, Amy looked at her friend with _that_ look on her face. "You've been like that against Jonah for the past few hours now. Why don't you just let him do his thing?"

Sinead just rolled her eyes in response. The 'music' of the people these days is becoming stupider and stupider, and rappers like Jonah Wizard are the epitomes of it.

"…and let's give 'em all a _round of applause!_ "

And applause the crowd did, but then were suddenly silenced by the ear-splitting bangs of a gong.

_Ding-ding-ding-ding DING!_

They were as if in a real wrestling match.

A marching band suddenly played the militaristic tune of _The Cahill Anthem_ as it drummed it drums and honked it horns, rolling over the red carpet to signal the entrance of the University's Student Military. With a prompt from President Cara Pierce, Amy, Sinead, and the rest of the Student Council from behind them, all marched forward with that confident tilt of the head, cutting through the amazed crowd whose mouths opened in astonishment at the sight of the two Elites with them. Furthermore, each of the members of the Student Council was wearing catchy, traditionally colourful Irish costumes that honoured the Cahills' original mother country, Ireland. Cara, who was at the front, with Sinead and Amy at both her sides, snapped her fingers in the air—and Stefan, the secretary, took that as his cue. He walked forward, adjusted the large, colourfully lined sombrero on his head, appropriated his lapel, and cleared his throat, which was heard all over the speakers. The spotlight then fell onto him.

Stefan, the typical Janus, theatrically twirled his hand in the air.

"We, the Cahills, have had a long history, ever since Gideon and Olivia conceived the real nature behind our name, back in the 1500s," he started. A hush fell over the crowd, like little children excited to hear a bedtime story. Even though each and every one of them already knew it all by heart, the tale of their ancestry dating back that long a time still fascinated them. "They had five children, Luke, who was the founder of the deviously strategic Lucians. Katherine, founder of the inventive and scientific Ekaterinas. Thomas, founder of the…er…Tomas, that with the lack of H. And, the most imaginative of all, who else but Jane, oh, the mention of her name brings a tintinnabulation of musical bells into my ears, she, Jane Cahill, the founder of the wonderful, beautiful, and the ever so artistic—"

"Just get on with it!" hissed Cara. She was, after all, a member of the typical straightforward Ekaterina who didn't have a care about verbosely redundant patriotic babblings.

Stefan, startled, indeed got on with it.

"O-okay then! Prepare to be amazed, my fellow Cahills!" Then he turned around so that he could be seen by everyone. Amy and Sinead looked at each other knowingly with confident smiles, and firmly held hands from behind Cara where she wouldn't see them. "Presenting! The Welcome Campaign organized by the Student Council!"

Sinead motioned to Amy, pointing towards the crowd with her chin, and when Amy turned her head to search the peoples, she saw Ian Kabra watching them—his arms crossed, that usual smugness leaking from his smirking features…those intense amber eyes, challenging them, challenging _her_ , pushing Amy's determination even further. She clenched her hands into fists. Honestly, that man _always_ …

"…Feast your eyes," continued Stefan, "upon the magical creation of your fellow _regular_ students, _we_ who have proven our excellence as Cahills!" He put his hands onto his chest, his trembling voice at the height of melodrama as if he were about to cry in the beauty of his speech. "And! All of you who barely notice the Student Council! Here and now, you shall see what we feel whenever you praise the Elite Seven and cast _us_ into the dark, when we could all be just as talented as they who are nothing but pompous purposeless peacocks…"

Amy nodded unfalteringly at Sinead. Sinead nodded in return, and so she pulled out the remote control from the back pocket of her yellow Irish costume and prepared to push the button at the boss' signal.

"…without need of that fancy name status like those of the _Elites_ , with only our natural talents and abilities that flows through our Cahillian veins, we have orchestrated an enchanted introduction for our Welcome Campaign that is sure to capture and ensnare all you, my fellow Cahills, like innocent butterflies into the Student Council's intricately-designed web of bewitching pulchritude and ravishing artistry…"

President Cara Pierce slapped her forehead, she who could not take any more of this nonsense. " _Just push the button!_ "

That was the boss' signal. And so, with a sly smile over to Ian Kabra, Sinead pushed the button.

At that instant moment, all forms of electricity suddenly went out. Lights, sounds, everything was suddenly gone in that precise second, engulfing the arena in darkness. Everybody gasped, worrying about this and fretting about that, and, soon, anxiety spread all over the place like tidal waves in the sea. Jonah Wizard also suddenly worried about his DJ-ing job that he was just starting to enjoy doing. Call it shallow, but man, what's a Wiz gotta do without _electricity?_ Electricity is, like, the life of music nowadays!

Ian, however, played through this charade with a calmer façade. He shook his head miserably at himself. Look at all this electrical failure. The night had barely started, and the Student Council had already made themselves look like fools!

But, what he didn't know was that Sinead Starling, the top Ekaterina student of Cahill University and a promising scientist and inventor, was _not_ a fool. Earlier that day when everybody was busy with the Founders' Festival celebrations, she had been messing up with the electrical systems and, technical details aside, came up victorious with a convoluted plot that would all be followed by the single push of the button…

Sure enough, a second later, the generator whirred back into life, and light suddenly shone over the darkness once again that calmed down the worries of the students. But then, however, the light was not coming from the lasers or the spotlights or wherever—the light was coming from behind all of them, so intense that it was as if the sun had been thrown amidst them. And so, curious of what this bright light was, everybody turned their heads around…

"We call this," proudly announced Stefan the Showman, as theatrically as ever, "the Cotton Candy Tree of Lights!"

…and then they simultaneously gasped in total astonishment at the brilliant sight before them.

" _WHOA!"_

"What…the… _hell…_ "

"They _made_ that?!"

Satisfied with their flattering flurry of amazed reactions, a grinning Sinead pushed another button, and from the speakers blared Beethoven's Symphony no. 8 to accentuate everything else with a classic, royally European theme. The students could only stare up at the impressively dazzling tower before them in openmouthed bewilderment. It was an insanely— _insanely_ —gigantic cotton candy tree that stood at a magnificent fifteen— _fifteen!_ —feet high up in the air. The fluffy, perfectly edible cotton candy had been splendidly stacked up together until they formed an extraordinary high standing tower that high-fived the silver full moon. Every puff of cotton candy was imported from America, (and no matter what Ian says, that is _something_ to be proud of), and each had a different colour and flavour—yellow lemon representing the Ekaterina, green avocado for the Janus, blueberries for the Tomas, pink strawberry for the Lucians (pink—take THAT, Ian Cobra), and white for the Madrigals, the colour of purity, flavoured randomly to surprise whoever should eat them. Looking at the giant, sparkling cotton candy tower felt like looking at New York City at night, or even better, like the millions of colourful galaxies of the universe had been packed into one and this was the result—blinking with thousands, millions, _countless_ of shining lights that had been, of course, electrically woven together by the one and only, Sinead Starling.

"Whoa!" said an amazed Jonah Wizard over from the DJ booth. He spoke as if he were a referee. "The Student Council caught us in a surprise! Who would've thought they'd build a Christmas tree—no, a _Founders' Tree_ —made out of cotton candy? This rocks! Let's throw the Council some big hand over there, yo!"

The students shouted and clapped their hands like crazed maniacs. Sinead looked over at Jonah and passed him a superior smile, which he caught and returned with a thumbs-up. Maybe the Wizard wasn't as annoying and stupid as she thought so after all.

"Of course, you can all freely get your pick!" announced Stefan in behalf of Sinead and Amy, who crossed their arms onto their chests triumphantly as Cara and the rest of the Student Council just gaped at them. Clearly, they'd underestimated the two girls. Yes, well, they knew that they'd been planning something great, but _this?_ This, THIS, this _remarkable_ cotton candy tower had exceeded all their expectations and practically blasted off into infinity and beyond. How could a pair of high school students manage to pull off something like _this?_ There is just no freaking way that Ian Kabra could ever top this off in a million years.

The amazed students suddenly started pointing among themselves, an excited chatter rising among them as they all started running to make their way towards the so-called Cotton Candy Tree of Lights to grab a stick of cotton candy. But even before one student could lay a finger on the sweet delights, there was suddenly a noise. A noise that interrupted all else. A noise that made each and every student, including the suddenly befuddled Sinead and Amy, turn their heads here and there to exchange anxious glances. But no. It was not _just_ a noise.

It was a _dramatic_ noise.

The marching band's drumming and trumpeting intensified to a passionate heat, shattering the airwaves to heighten up the intensity levels of the showdown, and everyone else turned their head away from the Cotton Candy Tree of Lights to look at what was happening on the other side of the battlefield. There, Ian Kabra stood, arms crossed and head lifted, relishing the joys of both victory and solitude. He, like Sinead, had a remote control in his one hand, and at one press of the button, in a spectacular nuclear fusion of light and noise, the universe practically exploded.

Or at least, that was how the students' ocular and audial sensory organs could interpret it at best.

_And, cue the music!_

Colourfully-decorated trucks beeped and honked and arrived on the wide grassy space, and hidden giant signs that had been installed up in the football arena posts suddenly flashed neon to blind everyone else, making them blink against the bright light. They were words written in elegant script, circling the entirety of the football arena, and one had to turn at 360 degrees just to read it all—

****Organized by the Elite Seven** **

****Cahill University Founders' Festival** **

****Reception Party** **

****Welcome Campaign** **

With another push of the button, tens and tens of men and women in elegant Irish costumes dressed either as Gideon, Olivia, Luke, Katherine, Thomas, Jane, or Madeleine, (which one could recognize from their respective character colour codes), suddenly came out of the trucks, carrying life-sized ice cream processors which they all systematically arranged in a fashionable line, following the entirety of the football arena's circumference. The ice cream processors were so quickly arranged in that circle to completely shut in all the amazed students inside the circumference of the wide arena. This was done all while the men and women gracefully tapped their feet against the ground or swished their dresses across the grass, triumphantly taking in the 'whoas' of the dumbstruck students, dramatic Irish music playing with a lively tune in the background.

And then, with Ian smirking at Amy and Sinead's awed gazes, another button was pushed. All the ice cream processors suddenly opened their windows in a same _swoosh_ at that single command, and, in an absolutely amazing yet terrifyingly mind-bogglingly unison, out came seven-layered Italian style ice-cream cones from each processor, each a different colour and flavour that represented each member of the ancient Cahill family.

Everyone immediately ran away from the Cotton Candy Tree of Lights and excitedly went over to the ice cream processors, pointing their fingers here and there to express their amazement of the job well done—the job _excellently_ done, and they lined up in front of the processors to get their gelatos, chattering among themselves about the amazingness of all of this, so dramatic that it was unbelievable.

"WHOOAA!" Jonah said it with his hands on his head, like he can't believe all of this either. "The Elite Seven attacks the Student Council's _Founders' Tree_ with truckloads of seven-layered Italian ice-cream, all different flavours! What do we have? _Partay in the mouth!_ This is _crazy!_ We obviously beat the Student Council with this! This…this…this…is so dramatically _awesome_! What do we all have to say for this? Everybody say, _Schweeet!_ "

" _SCHWEEEEEEET!"_ responded the manic students, gelatos in their hands.

Sinead shouted her annoyance and practically breathed fire like a dragon when she picked up a random stone from the ground and hurled it over to Jonah's DJ booth with all her might, making the crowd part to let the stone pass. Sinead grew even more annoyed when Jonah simply turned his head to the right to avoid the hurled rock.

"Whoa, that's some wicked arm power you've got there, girl!" he said, just to rile her up, laughing over at the speakers, making the crowd laugh too.

" _Shut up, you stupid Wizard!"_

"What—what is _this?_ " hollered Amy, who was really starting to feel like an utter failure. Everyone else was so enraptured by Ian's show of money, and they were all gathering around him, seven-layered gelatos in hand, seeking to congratulate him already, as if the showdown was already done and they've all together already decided the winner.

Seriously, though.

_Seven-layered?_

Hamilton came up from behind Amy, Sinead, and the speechless Student Council. "Ian said this is for the reception party," said Hamilton casually, as if that weren't obvious enough.

"What the…" nearly cursed Sinead, gesturing at the gelato processors and the Irish dancers all around her. "Where did he get all the money to _manage_ all these…"

"Ah, hello there, Miss Lovely Rank Two," said Ian as he emerged from the crowd and walked towards his rivals, leaving the other students experimenting their tastes on their fantastically flavoured gelatos. Ian had a cone in his hand as well. He released a smirk as he gestured at the Student Council's pride—the cotton candy tree. "Are you doing some PR over there as well?"

Amy and Sinead looked back to their Tree of Lights to find it deserted. A tissue paper flew past as if to emphasize the pathetic silence.

Italian-style seven-layered ice-cream cone, with each flavour coming from an exotic country never heard of from before—golden coffee mocha for Gideon, purple strawberry guava for Olivia, red cranberry mint for Luke, yellow caramelized mango for Katherine, green sugar-coated peppermint for Jane, blue candy-flavoured cream for Tomas, and a rich milk for Madeleine. As Jonah would say, it was indeed a total 'partay in the mouth'.

The colourful gelato dessert indeed could easily win over plain old cotton candy stacked into a tower at any time.

"It looks like you would have to close shop soon," teased Ian cruelly. The Student Council and Sinead reeled back in a brutally offended flinch. Amy clenched her fists, face glowing red in mortification. After having worked so hard for everything, this impertinent Lucian had the gall to mock her like a…a…

A _loser_.

"Y-you…shut up!"

"Oh, and look what I have here," he said, as if he hadn't heard her at all. He brought the gelato over to Amy, as if as a peace offering, when in reality he held it like a Grand Finals Champion trophy, mocking her that she'd never, _never_ be able to steal the throne from him. "Italian gelato with seven assorted exotic flavours, representing the complete ancient Cahill family. Would you like some, my ever so _lovely_ Amelia Hope Cahill…Miss _Eternally_ Rank Two?"

"D-d-d-don't…call me…"

"Ah, and it looks like I win the first round. But don't worry. There are two rounds left."

"No." Amy lifted her head, spirits as competitive as ever. "There are two rounds _more_. I will make sure to win—"

"Wait, what's that sound?" interrupted Sinead, who had noticed some sort of rumbling, like clouds before a thunderstorm.

"No. Way." It was Jonah, who had heard the sound as well. "Does the Elite Seven have more to present to y'all? Of course we do! We're doing nothing cheap— _cough_ , cotton candy, _cough_ —for the Founders' Festival! And this is all for you guys to _celebrate!_ "

"Would you just shut! _Up!_ " shouted Sinead over to him, a vein popping in her forehead, though of course she knew he couldn't hear her over the manic partying of the students.

Ian smiled cunningly and pressed a finger into his ear, and he cocked his head to the side as if listening to something being spoken. "Ah, I see," he said, eventually. "Excellent work, Bickerduff." Amy realized that he was actually wearing an earpiece. "You have arrived on time."

"As per your orders, master," Bickerduff replied from the other line.

And then, the students suddenly started noticing the rumbling sound as well, pausing momentarily from licking their sweet delights. Peeking through the trees, they could see something smooth, something spherical, something white…until the figure then rose into the star-studded sky to reveal its true form—it was a giant airship with the words 'Welcome, Cahills!' written onto it in elegant manuscript, and confetti rained down on the whole football arena as fireworks then lit up the sky. The students turned their heads up, thoroughly entertained and amazed, obviously enraptured in this one-of-a-kind light show that only Ian Kabra could obviously pull off.

"What?" Amy held her head in her hands in misery, drowning herself out in the amazed cheers and cries of the students, who were all obviously going to vote for the Elite Seven's win now. "No. Nonononono. This must've cost millions. This…this is impossible. This is just too much. Is that…" She looked up. "And is that a real, live, actual _blimp?_ "

"No," said Ian, smooth and suave as always, satisfied at the sight of Amy's defeat. "Not a blimp. It is a _dirigible_ designed to entertain the students and gain more impact for the publicity effect." He paused, then smirked over at her. "Isn't the _dirigible_ such a wonderful idea, Miss Rank Two?"

"J-j-j-just call it a blimp like a n-n- _normal_ person!"

Ian shrugged his shoulders. "I prefer _dirigible_ ," he said, matter-of-factly. "The term is more sophisticated, better thought of, and rolls off the tongue more sweetly than the borderline underdeveloped term of _blimp_." It was said in another one of his mocking tones, only this one belonged to one of his harsher varieties. "Is it not…" He looked at her superiorly. "…Miss Lovely Rank Two?"

Amy's left eye twitched once, then took a step backward. She whispered over at Sinead. "This doesn't look good for us…"

"What?" said the shocked Starling, who absolutely didn't feel like backing out so soon just yet. "We shouldn't give up—"

"No! Amy's right!" said Cara, grabbing the two girls' hands to hook their arms into hers. "We have to retreat for now and revise our plans, and work together for Round Two!" The fretful President Pierce looked back at her depressed and defeated Student Council, and tried to cheer them up by being determined. That was, after all, a president's job. "Come on, troops! Don't lose hope! We'll do this _together!_ "

Ian watched them all leave before his eyes, exchanging his last glance with Amy with that superiority gleaming in those amber eyes of his while she glared right back at him with a narrowed pair of determined jades. Then, eventually, she was completely dragged away from his sight by those loons to do who-knows-what in that shabby office of theirs. He imagined them all sitting around a large table, discussing their plans together like the idiots they were.

Hm.

Together.

_Recess period was over, and everybody else had returned to their classrooms to listen to the discussion of Miss Danvers about the school project that they were going to have to submit by the following week. Miss Danvers, a kind old teacher, said that the project was supposed to be done in groups, and she was almost done grouping them—almost. Ian Kabra and Amy Cahill were the only kids who had not yet decided which group they should join._

_Amy's problem was that no one wants her on anyone's group. Ian's problem was that_ everyone _wanted him to be on_ their _group. Miss Danvers decided to deal with Ian's problem first._

_"Oh, oh! Join our group, Ian! We can do this project together!"_

_"No!" protested another group leader. "Join_ our _group!"_

_"Don't listen to any of them, Ian! Join MY group!" said one obese student with bright pink lips and chubby cheeks and tummy overflowing with fat. He waved at Ian wholeheartedly, and Ian reeled back, as if not wanting any sort of contact with the cretin. "Come on, don't be shy! We'll be friends here!"_

_His young handsome face morphed into dark anger rarely found in a young seven-year-old child._

_"_ Shut up! _" he burst, all too suddenly, clamming up the entire class. The fat boy, Bobby, flinched and sat back down on his seat. Realizing the impact he had just caused, Ian tried to calm his rapid breathings down then said, more quietly, and with the authoritative voice he had inherited from his father, "Pardon me." He cleared his throat. "But I wouldn't be joining any group, Madame Danvers."_

_"Oh?" said the teacher, curious. Ian Kabra—a rare child, indeed. "You don't want to work with anyone, Mr Kabra?"_

_"Yes."_

_The teacher's curiosity transformed into concern for the youngster's social being, and she knelt in front of him to level with his eyes. "This is going to be a difficult project to do all alone. Are you sure?"_

_That day was the day when Ian Kabra learned to sharpen the intensity of those amber eyes of his as he stared, unwaveringly, right into his teacher's eyes. Miss Danvers actually felt her knees tremble. His eyes looked just like…_

… _like his father's._

_"I am sure," he finalized with authority, leaving the gulping Miss Danvers in a startled daze as he approached the seat far away from everyone else to get started on the project, ever the indomitable Lucian._

_Miss Danvers, however, still didn't feel like giving up on her young student. "But why not join the other groups, Ian? It would be more fun if you—"_

" _It's better doing it alone."_

"Master?" The voice of Bickerduff on his earpiece yanked him back to reality. "Master? Do you hear me? Can you say your orders again? I am in a bit of a loss up here in this blimp."

" _Dirigible_ ," corrected Ian with an exasperated sigh. "You just stay put up there, Bickerduff. Stay afloat. The Student Council had left, meaning that the responsibility of hosting through the night has befallen upon my shoulders. Honestly, those people are…are…"

Ian looked behind him to see the Student Council and Sinead and Amy all running away from the football arena, bustling through the colourful booths and the confused students who stared after them as they politely gave way.

"…they are what, master?" asked Bickerduff.

"They are hopeless," he finalized firmly. Oh, look at them, those pathetic imbeciles, scampering away like insects. What fools they all were, trying to 'work together' like a bunch of goody-two-shoes toads. It was their weight of being together that had dragged them down into failure, he told himself, and I will never let that happen to myself as well _._

"Remember this, Bickerduff. There are only two rounds left before I win. Amy Cahill—" he smirked at the brilliance of this plot—"shall then be all mine."

* * *

She watched all these from afar, her hatred against that Litter, Ian Kabra, burning up like an inferno.

There was no way that the Student Council are going to lose. No way. She wouldn't be able to take it if she was branded second again.

So, the debarred Eriele Cienfuegos, unnoticed by the rest of the crowd, started to walk away, a plan forming in her head—a plan that involved taking down the Elite Seven, especially their stuck-up first place idiot, just to make the Student Council win this time. Trampling them would be the best method to elevate herself up, and, finally, she'd be able to convince the Chief Executive that the Elite Seven should be _abolished_ , and that everyone should be treated equally, with her on the top of course. That would be a mighty satisfying punch in Ian Kabra's pride.

Ha.

And so, as she strolled away, she was left wondering to herself about one question…how does someone hack a celebrity's strictly protected e-mail account?

* * *

_Next day…_

Jonah Wizard didn't understand what just happened.

Sure, there were some things he understood about today. Early in the morning when his dad had just transported him to school with their sleek Mercedes Benz, he had been engulfed in a flurry of hugs and screams when his charm-inflicted fangirls saw sight of his awesomeness once he stepped foot into his glorified school once again. Everyone was still rejoicing in Cahill University's Founders' Festival spirits, with the noise and the lights and the party and the events and all. The sun was high, the clouds were white, the grass were green, and the whole campus was brimming with celebrating students, standing in booths or watching the football game between the Blue Boars and the Blue Bears—aside from the joyous festival chaos, everything was absolutely, perfectly normal.

That is, until Cora Wizard's voice suddenly resounded all throughout, summoning the young Wizard's presence upon her office.

He was just in the middle of DJ-ing for this competition called _Cahills' Got Talent_ when he had to sulkily get up and wonder what his mother needed this time. And when he entered her office, politely asking her _"What?"_ as he tried to repress that teenage irritation against interrupting mothers, he was so… _shocked_. Simply because the response he got from her was so shocking.

A kind smile had spread over her red lips instead of that scornful scowl that he'd already so gotten used to.

The effect that Cora's smile had on him was so soul-shattering that Jonah felt like he'd been sucked into a vacuum cleaner and then spat out all over again, muddling his music-obsessed mind like goo. That smile was like the Saharan sun and it drained him of all his Wizardly confident awesomeness, leaving him as dry as Starbucks' sarcastic remarks. Everything had gone out of rhythm in just that one little smile, like all too suddenly he didn't know how to dance. Suddenly Jonah felt strange breathing the same air that Cora breathed. He didn't know _what_ to do.

"Uh… _what?_ " was all he could manage.

Cora merely smiled. Again. Jonah flinched. _Ugh_. What game was his mother playing at again? He couldn't figure out if the smile was legit or not. He didn't know _how_ he should feel about that legit/unlegit smile: scared or flattered that his mother was smiling at him again, after such a long time that he hadn't seen her do just that.

"That e-mail you sent me was so noble of you, Jonah," Cora said, ever so sweetly.

"Uh-huh," he replied, uncertainly. He'd figured some time ago that his mother must've been a robot because of her obvious lack of empathy, but seeing Cora like this right now made him think that maybe she's not a robot after all. Maybe she's a shape-shifting alien from Mars like that from the DC Comics collection. What alien language is she speaking now? German? "Suuuure…"

"But don't worry, Jonah dear," continued Cora, as elegant as ever. "I would be punishing the rest of the Elites, but after considering the matter a bit, I decided I'd spare you this time. You're dismissed."

His mind still a muddled pudding of potpourri, he smiled awkwardly at his mother and walked out of the room with— _phew_ —a pair of still functioning legs, not really comprehending what his mother had just said. Maybe he just lacked some Zzzs, after partying all night last night. He decided then and there that he should probably get bouncing to the MadriGreen and grab a couple of Zs and take a nap.

But that was a bad idea, because Ian Kabra was there.

* * *

Amy and Sinead had been working hard all morning at the Student Council Office, preparing for the Round Two of the Showdown, but then decided that they should probably go grab a bite of croquettes from one of the booths at the campus and take a short break. Cara had been kind enough to let them go, saying that they should take an hour of two of enjoying the campus festival and to leave the job to the Council while they do. Amy actually liked Cara Pierce. Sinead did too—unlike Amy, Cara was able to understand and laugh along with Sinead's code/computer jokes and scientific wit, being a fellow Ekaterina and all. They've already shared a hundred of inside jokes that totally flew over everyone's head, including Amy. Cara was a nice girl, certainly more fitting for the position of a president than that other one, Eriele Cienfuegos.

Amy then suddenly spotted the Ferris wheel, with a long line of students trying to get in, waving their tickets up in the air. She pointed at it. "Wouldn't you like us to try riding that?" she said. "I haven't been up in a Ferris wheel ever since, like, I've been six. Come on!"

The girl had started to pull at Sinead's arm but then the Ekat stopped her. "Wait a minute, I just remembered something." Sinead thought deeply for a second before snapping her fingers in the air. "That's it! My sketch pad! I left my sketch pad at the MadriGreen yesterday! So that was why I felt like I was missing something…" She looked at Amy apologetically. "You could take the Ferris wheel ride, but I have to go to MadriGreen. The electrical layout plan is in that sketch pad and I—"

"Well, the Ferris wheel could wait," said Amy, shrugging her shoulders. "Let's go grab your sketch pad first."

Sinead smiled, grateful for the company. Then the two proceeded to walk in comfortable silence towards the greenhouse, occasionally saying hello to those students who greeted them enthusiastically. Their eyes and ears were constantly being bombarded by the campus festivities, which gave Amy an idea to start a conversation.

"Sooo…" She fiddled with her fingers. "What do you think of this year's festival?"

Sinead blinked twice at that question before settling into an answer. "Well, it's great." She took a look around her as if to emphasize her sentence, then took a bite of her croquette. "I don't really like festivals and I'm not so much of a social person, but I think this year I'm changing my mind."

Amy took a bite of her croquette as well before responding. "You know what, I found it weird that you had to join me with the Student Council. I know how you've never really attended the previous years' Founders' Festivals, so I was shocked that you would willingly...you know. Cooperate this time." Then she passed over to Sinead a look. "Sinead…if you're doing this just because you feel like you have to make it up for me..."

"What?" The Ekaterina held up her hands in the air and shook them as if in great denial. "No, no, it's nothing like that, I—no. Just no. What are you talking about?"

Amy sighed heavily. "Sinead..."

"Okay. Alright. You caught me."

Amy looked into Sinead's green eyes. "I've forgiven you completely already. You don't _have_ to make up for anything—"

Sinead took a rebellious bite into her croquette and stubbornly lifted her chin up in the air as she chewed. "But even if I _want_ to, Ames," she said, her voice muffled from the bread in her mouth, "you are _not_ stopping me."

Amy rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "...it's pointless arguing with you, right?"

Sinead gulped down the food in her mouth. "Yep."

"What do you think are the Elites doing right now?" Amy suddenly asked.

Her Starling companion casually shrugged her shoulders. "They're probably getting themselves drunk in tea."

Amy laughed. But Sinead didn't join her.

"I'm serious," she said, wiping off the white sauce of the croquette with a tissue over her lips. "They really were probably drinking tea all day long all this time. Or Seven Up, in Dan and Dolt and that Wizard's case, like an American tea party."

"A tea party. In such a busy week?"

"Yeah. That's why I am _so_ glad I left the boring group and joined the Council with you."

"Really?" said Amy, chewing at her croquette bread.

"Really," confirmed Sinead with surprising sincerity. "I had the chance to show my talent to everyone else. I enjoyed building up that Cotton Candy Tree of Lights—even though we didn't actually win—but that's not the point. If I stayed with Ian, I probably wouldn't even be busy doing _anything_. Because you know how Ian is. He probably hoarded all the job and is doing it all by himself."

"With all those fancy gelato trucks that he came up with?" The thought of last night's events still made Amy feel as bitter as charred tofu, so she scoffed at that. "Come on, that's crazy. He couldn't have done all that all by himself."

"It's true," countered her friend. "If I teamed up with him, I would probably have spent my whole day studying black and white. But with you, my skills are being put to the test, and, to be frank, I'm..." She took a contemplative look at her croquette, probably composing in her mind the appropriate words, before she finally threw the bread down her throat. She smiled and rolled her shoulders as casually as can be. "I'm actually having fun."

But Amy, however, was still stuck on the previous topic. "He's...doing it by himself?"

"Didn't you hear from Dan?" said Sinead, wiping off the last remains of sauce from her lips with a handful of tissue. "And why are you even so concerned about him? Come on, let's just get on to the MadriGreen. Oh, and speaking of which, hel- _looo_ , Earth to Amy, here we are."

Amy suddenly snapped out of the trance that she didn't even realize that she had fallen into. She took one look at Sinead and then at MadriGreen, which stood right in front of her. She could've facepalmed herself right then and there—sometimes her mind just spaced out too much that she would even completely forget everything else about her surroundings.

"Heh…" she chuckled awkwardly at herself, her hand already reaching for the handles of MadriGreen's green glass doors, and then throwing them open out wide. "Sorry about that, Sinead…there are just those times when my mind gets too far away that I don't—"

But then she was interrupted by a clipped British voice.

"Just may I ask you," said the deadly calm as the elapid viper towered domineeringly over his clueless prey. The voice was silent yet imperious, the duality creating a powerful effect that would turn anyone's head to his direction in complete befuddlement. " _What_ is your problem with me?"

…both girls looked, and they realized that it was Ian Kabra, referring to a completely wide-eyed Jonah Wizard.

* * *

" _What?_ " The word came out as an edgy chuckle. Confusion dawned on Jonah to mix all the colours to get his already muddled state of mind in even more disarray. He took one look at Ian, who looked like a king cobra about to lunge and sink his nasty fangs right into him, and so Jonah decided that he should probably take a cautious step back and raise his hands up in front of him as a sign that the Wiz had come in peace. "I just got here, bro. I don't have any problem with you. Who said I had any problem with you?"

"'Bro'?" Ian asked hollowly. "Is that another direct insult to my name? What the devil does that word even mean? Bronchitis?"

Bronchitis.

…

…

…

… _seriously?_

"Uh, no, actually, 'bro' means _brother_. Aren't we all brothers here? You should check out my new song. _Dis Gangsta's Your Bro_ from my hottest album is the song of the millennium. It, like, topped in the French charts for three weeks straight."

"'Bro' for 'brother'," Ian repeated with a mirthless chuckle. "How eloquently put."

Jonah blinked cluelessly as he watched Ian gather his laptop from the table and tuck it under his arm as he prepared to leave the place. He couldn't put a finger on what was currently happening around him right now. He looked at his compadre Hamburger for help, at that little ninja kid named Dan, even at that British snob named Natalie; but Ham looked like he was looking at everything _but_ him, Dan was glaring _at_ him, and the Brit prima donna was throwing _daggers_ at him. He considered the option that his classmates must only be playing with him and this was only all some sort of totally uncool TV show prank, but his celebrity eyes—which were pros at spotting the sneaky paparazzi—didn't find no hidden cameras nowhere.

"Uh, am I missing something here?" Jonah asked.

"Ian," Natalie tried to soothe, completely ignoring him, "I know he had upset you, but do not let the lowly cretin—"

"Worry not; I certainly _refuse_ to let this lowly cretin triumph over my name." Then, when Ian was finally in front of Jonah, he looked at him with as much contempt as a Lucian smile could ever possibly contain. The Wizard was taller than the younger Kabra, but at that moment Jonah felt like Ian towered over him with that look in his eyes. Whoa. Intense. Just what _is_ going on here?

"I understand now, Jonah Wizard, the dear, beloved son of the Elite Seven Chief Executive," started Ian, as sweetly as ever, oblivious to the confused blinking of Jonah's eyes. Ian lifted his chin even higher, his accent thickening more and more with each whispered, anger-coated word. "But let me just remind you. You are forgetting your superiors. My mother is the Lucian Dean and could very well kick your arrogant behind out of this university just as easily that you'd stepped in. More importantly, it keeps getting better—I am absolutely certain that _your_ oblivious mother wouldn't even lift a finger to defend you from _anything_ —"

"Dude." Jonah had that incredulous smile on his face, one that you'd find on a person who genuinely didn't know anything what anyone was talking about. He'd come in the MadriGreen to doze off, not fight. "How about we all take a page out of your li'l sis's book and take a sip one of those precious tea of yours or whatever or just sit down and take a _nap_ 'cause, like, we've all barely slept an _hour_ last night. And you know what, bro," he said, tapping Ian casually on the shoulder, making the latter's eyes widen and his body to stiffen like a rock, "maybe you're working on this competition a little too—"

"Will you just _stop?_ " Ian interrupted, slapping Jonah's hand off of him like he was disgusted of the gesture, his voice heating up the greenhouse to a thousand degrees. "Just stop it! Your attitude is getting _irksome_. I see you every day trying to sound like you want to be our 'friend'—bah! What a fraud you are! I know that you _really_ loathe being with the Elite Seven because, what, we are awful, narcissistic, and we care too much about our grades? If you want so badly to get out of here to socialize with 'new friends', _fine_. Why not? If you want to get out, then _fine!_ No one is stopping you. Better if you just permanently vanish from my sight and mingle with those _regular_ trashes _._ Good day."

And then without another word, he walked out, pushing an extremely confused Jonah out of the way, when all the latter could do was blink and shake his head and splutter all the splutterable things that could be spluttered at the moment, his wild gaze following Ian's stance as he spluttered.

"What just—I don't even—don't you _dare_ walk out on THE Jonah Wiz—what! I can't believe it. _He_ just walked out on me. He just walked out on _me!_ "

Ian breezed past an astonished Amy and Sinead who he didn't even spare a glance at and then disappeared once and for all through the green glass doors, making Jonah stop spluttering his splutters. Jonah decided that he couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. He turned to the people about him.

"Yo, speak up. Mind telling me what's goin' on here?"

Natalie sighed and smoothed out the pleats of her skirt, looking as immaculate as ever as she stood up from her chair. "Well, you can't blame my brother for walking out on you. After all, you _had_ just ratted out the honour of our family name on your precious mother." Then Natalie followed Ian out the door.

"Ratted out? Me? _Honour_ of your freaking family name?" Jonah still didn't get it. _"What?"_

"Um, can anyone explain what's wrong with Ian and Natalie?" said Amy, who had just come in with Sinead. She mirrored the look on Sinead's face—utter confusion, though the latter was much concerned about her sketch pad than the current predicament. She just _knew_ she'd left it around here _somewhere_ …

"Pfft. Don't mind them," Dan said, lazily swatting his hand at the air as if the Kabras were like irritating flies hovering over him. "Ian's just taking this competition a bit too personally. But I have to say, I'm actually siding the Cobras this time. Blegh, can't believe I just said that, but I have, like, no choice. Because that was _really_ not nice, Jonah Wizard. Is that what you really are when you're off the TV? Nasty, dude. Nasty."

No choice? Siding the Kabras? Not nice? Nasty?

" _What?"_

"Don't you worry about me, though, man," Hamilton said, speaking up, then put a hand onto Jonah's shoulder. "I'm on your side. Though I can't really believe it either that you _would_ tell on us like that to your mother…I mean, what you did, that's just bad. Like really bad."

His side? Can't believe it? Told on them? What he did? Bad? Like really bad?

Jonah turned to Burger King.

" _What?"_

"Uh, actually, no, I'm changing my mind," said Hamilton, taking back his hand to him and reeling away from Jonah like he was suddenly literally a thousand degrees hot. "I'm not on your side…cause you've just, like, did something very awful. I mean, why would you do something like that? Just vile, man. Just vile."

"Why would I do something like _what?_ Come on, why is everyone looking at me like I'm the bad guy here?"

"Uh, hullo, weren't _you_ the one who ratted out on us in the first place? Because of you, we're disqualified from the competition, and the Student Council automatically wins." Dan looked pointedly at him. "Ian, Natalie, Hamilton, and me—we went to your mom's office earlier and she told us that we'd be punished from 'cheating' in the competition, she says. So, we're disqualified. We tried to defend ourselves like ninjas, but she wouldn't listen! She said that _you_ said that you knew we were cheating, even though we're not. That is precisely why everyone is looking at you like you're the bad guy, because you are. I don't even care who wins the competition, but we're getting _punished_ , and who knows, she might force us into doing—ugh—doing _homework!_ "

Dan was this close to tearing his own head off.

Jonah, however, was _this_ close to exploding from all this brain-overloading thingamajigs.

" _What?!"_

Hamilton titled his head to the side at Jonah. "Wait, I get the feeling he doesn't know anything about this. Did you send any e-mail to your mother lately?"

"Uh, no, obviously, 'cause I still don't know what you're talking about! I haven't even talked to my mother in, like, _years!_ " Okay, he'd talked to his mother just five minutes ago, but they didn't have to know anything about that and they had more important matters to deal wi—

Whoawhoawhoawait. He'd talked to his mother earlier. He'd _talked_ to his mother earlier. Then the coin dropped and bounced in the metallic hollow like a triumphant shoot. Ah!

So _this_ was what she'd been talking about all this time?

"Yes, he _had_ sent an e-mail to his mother." Everyone else turned to Sinead, whose green eyes were focused onto the smartphone on her hand, a finger scrolling up across the smooth, wide area of the touchscreen's interface before she tapped onto the selection titled 'Sent Messages'. Jonah's eyes widened at the phone in her hand, and then he started tapping at his baggy shorts, but found nothing there. He threw one incredulous look at Starbucks.

"What the hell, is that my _phone?_ How did you—"

"Uh, Wizard, no need to get intense," she said, casually. Sinead threw the phone into the air. "Here."

Jonah snatched it but it sort of slipped from his hand and he had to scramble to keep the phone from hitting the ground and then smashing into smithereens. He caught his precious phone before it hit the ground— _phew_ —and when he looked up, he threw a dirty look over at her, which she returned with a shrug and a superior smirk. How she stole it from him he could never understand. But when he stared down at the screen of his phone, he saw this:

_To the Elite Seven Chief Executive:_

_Mother. Madame Cora Wizard. Our team leader, Ian Kabra, that nasty cobra litter, is cheating. He is cheating against the Student Council, Mom. I know I belong to the Elite Seven, but this isn't right anymore. We don't deserve to win. The Student Council should be the winners, but Ian insists that we should continue cheating against them so that we'd come out on top. I can't take it anymore. I wrote this letter to you to let you know of this conundrum. I want you to disqualify the Elites, maybe better if you just abolish them altogether, and suspend them for two weeks so that the Kabra would reflect on what he's doing wrong. If you have to include me with the punishments, then so be it._

_With love,_

_Jonah_

" _WHAT!"_ The magic word came out, spoken as if written in all caps. Jonah backpedalled in shock, almost dropping the phone once again onto the ground in the process. "I didn't—I don't even know what—I didn't WRITE that!"

"Chill out, dude, let me see that." Jonah handed his phone to his friend. Then, after reading, Ham suddenly burst out laughing, even slapping his thigh so hard that the sound of his palm hitting the flesh of his thigh resound dramatically loudly all throughout the greenhouse which sort of made Sinead, Amy, Jonah, and Dan cringe in disgust. Hamilton, however, continued laughi—no, _guffawing_ , completely oblivious of everything else. "Conundrum? Jonah Wizard— _conundrum?_ "

"Hey! I know what that means!" Jonah felt like he was being taken for a fool. "I know I like speaking street slang, but I'm not an idiot! _I read Shakespeare!_ "

"I'm just _saying_ ," said Hamilton, who was wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, "that you _definitely_ didn't write this e-mail."

"I deffo didn't. That's right. I _deffo_ didn't!"

"But if _he_ didn't write that," Dan stood straight up his chair, "then _who?_ "

"To save you the drama, Dan," Sinead's green eyes glowed with a challenge written all over it, "someone else had hacked Jonah's account."

Amy looked at the green glass doors from where Ian and Natalie had left. "Someone who obviously wants to bring the Elite Seven down."

* * *

"Ian." Natalie pounded a fist onto the table to get Ian's attention off of that blasted laptop of his for even just one bloody little second. She had followed him to the almost-empty University Library (who would go to the University Library when there was the Founders' Festival?) where he had taken a seat to get himself lost in digital words once again. He'd been this grumpy for weeks. "I know that all year you've been looking forward to working with the tasteless peasant Amelia Cahill for the Founders' Festival."

Ian typed faster onto the keyboard, his eyes narrowing as if focusing on something on the screen. "I'm fine _not_ working with her," he bit out, perhaps a bit too sharply.

"And I know," she continued, "that you're _really_ annoyed that Carina Pierce the blasted Ekaterina _had_ to step in and destroy your plans of spending your time with Amelia."

The speed of Ian's typing was noticeably furious now, his fingers blindingly fast as he practically pounded on each and every vexing key as if he _hated_ all of them for being there. "I do not know of any _Carina_ —"

"And you're really, really, _really_ annoyed that Amelia had to break away from the Elite Seven to work _with_ the Student Council, thus breaking all your remaining chances of spending time with her at all."

Ian's jaw stiffened and he typed even faster, faster, faster, channelling all of his hatred and anger into typing every blasted word, but when he got one letter wrong he growled and angrily rammed down a fist onto the table and stood up to stare down at Natalie, who was casually looking at her fingers. "That's not—! I have no business with—! I don't _care_ if Amy wants to work with the—!" But then he stopped himself when he noticed the librarians giving him warning glances.

Natalie crossed her arms onto her chest, satisfied with where her interrogation had gone. "I can read my own brother. I know that out of all the competitions Amelia had challenged you with, this is the one that you loathe the most. Why do you not just go ask her to work with you on this one? If you want to work with her, spend time with her so _badly_ , then do it. What kind of a Kabra are you if you can't even get what you want? Tsk, tsk." She let a smirk grace her features. "Mother surely will—"

"Mother has _nothing_ to do with this, and if you say a word to her about me and—and—and _Amy_ —" He couldn't help the wash of colour that overcame his face when he mentioned himself and the name of the Madrigal girl in one same sentence. He cleared his throat awkwardly and looked away from the smirking eyes of his little sister as he grudgingly took his seat once more. Curse those amber eyes. Why did they have to be as ruthlessly Lucian as his own? "Go away, Natalie. If Amy wants this to be a competition, then a competition this shall be. We have been disqualified, I know, but I'd _make_ the Elite Seven win, and Amy _shall_ learn her lesson."

"Fine, fine, I won't tell anything to Mum," said Natalie dismissively, but she meant it when she said those words. She knew that Mum wouldn't react very nicely once she knew that Ian had a…a…ugh. A _crush_ with that peasant girl, and it would be probably best if she never knew at all. "But hold your horses, brother dear. How is the Elite Seven going to win if we have been disqualified?"

"I have my methods."

Her head dipped in a light nod. "Alright, then. The Elite Seven should win. What can the _rest_ of this so-called _Elite Seven_ do to help?"

He blankly stared at the screen on his computer, his fingers moving as automatically as a machine.

Natalie drew herself back from him and stood up straight with an exasperated sigh. "Fine. Continue working on that, will you? It works for me."

* * *

The incident at the MadriGreen made the remaining Elites understand that it was all just a freak misunderstanding. Jonah immediately wanted to go and chase Ian, tell him all about this and be bros again, and then go to his mother's office and tell her to un-disqualify the Elite Seven and let them back in the Elite Seven and Student Council smackdown once more. But then Sinead stopped him.

"Wait," she said. "We have to have concrete proof first."

"Concrete _what?"_ Jonah whirled around on her with that incredulous look on his face. " _I'm_ a witness here, for cryin' out loud. A _witness!_ I didn't write that e-mail."

"We still have to find out who _did_ ," noted the Starling, swearing in her head that an annoyed vein had just popped somewhere in her system. Seriously. People often told her that they were jealous of her intellect, but no one knows how difficult it really is to deal with slow idiots in her everyday life. "And anyway, even if you chase that Cobra down and beg on your knees, it'd be no use. I know him. He's been a classmate of mine for three years. Better if you let him cool his head off for a night or two before all else."

"And do what? Do _nothing_ again?" Jonah released an exasperated sigh. "What that Cobra dude said was probably right. Being in the Elite Seven is _boring_. All you guys do is sit around here all day to self-study, waiting for your mentor to call on you so you could discuss about how to subtract _letters_ from each other. Seriously, math these days is getting stupid."

"Hey!" said Sinead, face red, thoroughly riled up in defence of one of her best subjects. "Mathematics is the science of dealing with the logic of _everything_ , your whole _life_ is made up of mathematics, your precious _art_ derived itself from the concepts of _mathematics_ , and now _you're_ calling pure mathematics stupid, you thankless _wretch?_ "

"Okay, okay, chica, chill, _chill!_ I'm just _sayin'_ that we should do something about this, and not just sit around the whole day again, y'know what I mean?"

"Right," agreed Hamilton. "How're we going to prove that it's that president gal again? I mean, it's obviously Eriele who's behind this, right, Sinead?"

The moment that her name escaped his mouth, though, made a chill run down his spine. Sinead still hadn't gotten over that Franklin incident, and he still hadn't gotten over that fight they had on the first day they'd met. He was suddenly afraid that Sinead might lash out a sarcastic remark at him, something cutting, maybe, and on instinct he built up his defences; but instead, he was utterly shocked when she simply said—

"Yeah. Might be Eriele."

Hamilton blinked, then smiled his relief. Sinead's fixed friendship with Amy certainly fixed her general attitude.

"Dolt, I know this is random, but would you _please_ go and take a shower?"

Mostly, that is. "Right."

"I wonder what Eriele's problem is," mused Dan aloud, completely oblivious of the other two. "She's, like, the mortal enemy of the mighty ninjas of the Elite Seven."

"We're not ninjas," pointed out Amy.

"Yes we are!"

"No we're _not_." Amy turned to her friend. "How do you plan on turning Eriele in, then? We can't just barge into Madame Wizard's office and tell her all this without concrete proof." At this, she gave a pointed look at Jonah, which he returned by exaggeratedly rolling his chocolate brown eyes.

"Eriele, or whoever the saboteur is, threw the Elite Seven into this mess by hacking Jonah Wizard's account. So I'd get us all out of it," Sinead smiled challengingly, "by hacking them back."

" _You_ would get _us_ out of this?" Jonah said. "Unfair! How do we help?"

Sinead smiled up at him, a smile that was too good to be true. "Oh, of course you could help! You know how to write a complex stream of codes to get pass through seven-layered—oh, quit grinning, you Dolt, it's _not_ gelato—internet firewalls?"

Jonah's mind drew a blank for precisely five point five seconds at that, everyone else swerving their heads to look at him with grins on their faces. He had _no_ idea how to get through internet firewalls.

"Uh…I think you should probably get started on working."

* * *

Sinead had instructed Amy that she should go back to the Student Council Office to continue working on the details of the showdown's Round Two, and Amy had obliged. Because, even if she stayed at the MadriGreen, she wouldn't be of any use to anyone. Sinead stayed there and got started on working on her laptop with Jonah behind her shoulder, who guardedly let her access his e-mail account so she could get started tracing the culprit's digital identity from there. Hamilton had decided that he should go check out the sumo-wrestling competition back at the gym, and Dan went to grab a bite and take a brief look at the campus festivities to see if anything could catch his eye.

Amy decided that, before heading to the Student Council Office, she should first go to the library and grab a book in an attempt to lighten up her mood. As she picked up Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_ from the shelf, though, she caught sight of Ian and Natalie from afar, having a conversation of some sort. And for some reason Ian had caused, Natalie scoffed, turned on her heel, and started stomping away from her brother, who was still hunched over his laptop. Amy hid herself behind the shelf as she watched Natalie leave the library through the glass doors. Then, Amy returned her green gaze over to Ian's, whose eyes were focused, intent, so sharp that they could've cut through glass—and yet they were lonely, washed away in the screen light's blue monochrome.

 _Does winning this competition,_ she asked him through her wide and inquisitive green gaze, _really mean that much to you?_

* * *

Round Two of the competition had been dry, and, comparing it to last night's Round One, the students were really very disappointed at the lack of enthusiasm from the two sides of the showdown. The Elite Seven's Ian Kabra hadn't even attended, and so didn't Amy Cahill from the Student Council; so they all just decided to spend the night throwing away all their parents' hard-earned money for a ride on the colourful Ferris wheel, the Swirling Octopus, and the Viking Longship while Stefan, Cara's Janus secretary, brought his band to entertain the students with a special appearance from Jonah Wizard. Cara was furious that Amy hadn't come at all to help set the stage up, and that Sinead was nowhere to be found.

Amy merely spent the rest of the night thinking about the matter at hand. She thought about the false e-mail sent to Cora Wizard and the fight that Ian had had against Jonah. She thought about the possibility of Eriele being the saboteur and wondered if Sinead had already solved the matter. She thought about the competition, that it meant absolutely nothing to her if Ian and the Elite Seven were disqualified—that would mean that the Student Council's victory had been nothing but vain, and that she wasn't a victor at all. She thought about Ian, those acute amber eyes focused onto the screen, fingers mechanically moving across the keyboard…like a lifeless robot.

Amy hugged a pillow near her chest. Oh, what had she done? Along with everyone else, she had noticed it as well—that Ian had become a bit… _grumpy_ these past several days ever since she'd proclaimed that she'd be working on the Founders' Festival with the Student Council. She'd tried ignoring that instinctive thought, but now she couldn't help but _think_ of him and his well-being. She felt like it was her fault that he acted like this, that he'd lashed out on innocent Jonah earlier. She had a feeling that, no, Ian wasn't really angry _at_ Jonah, he was angry at _something else_ , and because he'd been bottling that anger for a long time now, it had no choice but to explode like a volcano. Because that wasn't him. That _wasn't_ him. Ian Kabra wasn't one who picked on fights just as unreasonably. He wasn't acting himself, and hadn't been in the past week.

But as the restless night went on…

An image of Ian Kabra mockingly holding out to her that seven-layered gelato with a teasing look in his eyes flashed before her like a nightmare.

She opened her eyes out wide, not believing that she'd just imagined that. She clutched at her pillow, nails digging into the cotton, face turning red.

'Do not worry, though,' said that image in her mind, his voice annoyingly deep and handsomely accented. Then the image fondly patted her forehead as if she were a dog. 'No matter what happens, you'd always, _always_ be my Miss _Lovely_ Rank Two.'

She couldn't take the heat in her head anymore. The indignation exploded, and then she _hurled_ the innocent pillow against the wall with all the force she could muster.

"Don't! Call me! _Rank Two!_ Darn it!"

Before she could throw one more innocent pillow at the abused wall, a sharp series of rapping suddenly sounded from the other side to interrupt her mini tantrum and then Nellie's grumpily slurry voice penetrated through. "Amy! Someone sleeping here?"

Amy blushed as she realized what she had just done, and then stared at her room, scattered pillows all around, the blanket sprawled all over the floor like a dirty carpet.

"R…right. Sorry."

* * *

Sinead, instead of lying on her bed and thinking of—cough, cough— _thoughts_ like Amy was, spent the night hacking still, until, eventually, she found out who sent the e-mail to Cora Wizard. She immediately phoned Jonah (she knew his number, which wasn't really available to the public, yes, but Sinead Starling, even though she was merely a high school student, had access into the deep web and could hack through complicated security systems for heaven's sake, so obtaining some celebrity's number was as easy as a piece of program code). Jonah was shocked why on earth she had his number, and he suddenly panicked (by the name of Jane, he wouldn't know what to do if the paparazzi suddenly got a hold of his phone number, and in Sinead Starbucks' hands, who knew what would happen!). But then Sinead assured him that she had found out the culprit who sent his mother that false e-mail, and attempted to explain it to him how she did it. Babblings of digital code were enthusiastically spilled from the Starling's mouth, (gaining victory from a computer hacking job could quite make a person feel high) and Jonah's head spun like a top until he practically couldn't differentiate black from white anymore. Why was Sinead even saying him all this? To brag about how brilliant she was?

Typical.

"STARBUCKS! Just say it already! Who's the saboteur?"

The enthusiastic tone of the Starling immediately dropped and was replaced by a sigh. "I couldn't believe it either. But evidence is evidence. The e-mail just didn't match your street linguistics, because, come _on_ , 'conundrum'? A bit too intellectual for someone stupid." Jonah snorted at this. Why is everybody convinced that the Wiz can't have a broader vocabulary? "So. I traced the speed and typing patterns, ran a scan through the University's computer database where all students' speed and typing patterns are recorded, and surprisingly, the patterns did not match Eriele. Not at all."

"What?" Jonah's eyes snapped open. He'd been about to fall asleep again when Sinead said 'typing patterns', but, _finally_ , something not drool-worthy. "Come on, yo, if not Eriele, _who?_ "

Sinead had a hard time trying to say the name aloud. Over the few days of being with her, Sinead had really come to like the girl—she'd even thought that she could be a good ally to the Elite Seven, even a good friend. But right now…evidence is evidence, and that evidence betrayed everything she believed about her, and the truth had to come out.

"Cara Pierce."


	7. The Founders' Festival, Part I

_Seven-year-old Amy Cahill had a hard time trying to find some group-mates for Miss Danvers' project._

" _Um…h-hello. C-Can I—"_

" _Ew! Back away, bookworm!"_

_Miss Danvers put her hands onto her hips and stood over the little blond girl with a look on her face. "Young Miss Lee, that attitude is not to be tolerated around my classroom!"_

" _But, Miss Danvers!" wailed the girl, who irritably turned around, obviously irked for having been disturbed from talking with her girly friends. "Our group doesn't need a nerdy weirdo." She pointedly looked at Amy, who bashfully bowed her head down to hide the redness. "I only accept pretty girls who look like princesses, like_ me! _Right, girls?"_

" _Right!"_

_Miss Danvers put an arm around Amy and started to lead her away from the leeches. "Come, little one. Forget all that they've said."_

" _But why?" said Amy, who was very close to tears. "Why don't they like to work with me? Is it because I am not as pretty?"_

" _You_ are _pretty, Amelia. They just couldn't see it yet." Miss Danvers snapped her fingers in the air. "And don't you worry. I would have Ashley and her group stay after school because of what they said to you today. I simply would not accept that."_

_Amy smiled up at her kind kindergarten teacher. But then, a frown washed over her face when she spotted her classmate, that rich kid named Ian Kabra, at the far side of the room, facing the window with a bored expression on his face, as the other groups around him stared and then murmured to each other. They all looked like they wanted to approach him, but they were all scared to do it._

" _M-Miss Danvers?" Amy began, remembering before her eyes what happened earlier after recess. "Why didn't_ he _want to belong to any group? And why did you let him go alone?"_

_Miss Danvers could only smile sadly. She knew the answer why, and Ian had been quite the mature thinker in her class, always acting like an adult even if he isn't, avoiding acquaintanceship and remaining stoic to impose authority, thinking that following his parents' footsteps would make them proud._

… _it was a matter that innocent Amy could never understand._

* * *

Ian Kabra found this year's Founder's Festival to be entirely _tedious_.

Not that that was something novel.

He didn't find the sense in celebrating the day that Gideon and Olivia conceived their historical children. Nor the date of the establishment of Cahill University, formerly Ektomaluja University. He could accept commemorating the historical day, but _celebrating_ it was farfetched, at least in his point of view. The Founders' Festival was a waste of time. A waste of energy. But for some reason he couldn't quite comprehend, all of the Cahill students looked like they were actually having _fun_. How could these people ever find amusement in going through the elaborate trouble of organizing the events, fixing the tents and the booths and the bothersome decorations, and throwing money on senseless and extravagant rides? No matter how many times Amy explained to him that the Founders' Festival _is_ fun, he'd never be able to completely understand.

It was last year. He was a second year Lucian back then. He hadn't attended the Founders' Festival at all (as usual), saying that he had a week-long business seminar to attend to with his parents as an excuse. But Amy had seen through him and told him to not be such a 'Mister Stiff' and that he should take time to have fun with himself for _once_. Of course he'd said no. And then of course she'd insisted. Then of course he'd said no. And _still_ she'd insisted. She'd promised to show him how fun the Founders' Festival really is, even going so far as to calling this promise a vow. "I'd show you," she'd said. "Next year. I'm going to make you see."

A rueful grin snaked through Ian's face as he pushed through MadriGreen's doors to get started on working on the final details of the Showdown's Round Three. It being the final day of the Festival, the MadriGreen was empty—as he assumed it would be. Everyone else would be busy, and, Natalie, he'd heard, was aiming to make a historic record by being the youngest student crowned as _Miss Cahill of the Year_. But his thoughts weren't directed on anyone else, not even his sister. He was still thinking about that day, that day when Amy had made that promise.

A futile promise, it turned out. Ian took one look at the empty interior of the greenhouse, where he stood alone with the sound of the rippling waters of the fountains.

_Really, Amy? Is this how 'fun' the Founders' Festival is?_

_..._

Amy Cahill yawned as she walked through the hallway. She had barely had enough sleep last night, irritably turning over here and there and pulling the blankets and throwing pillows about the room that when she got too annoyed, she decided that she should probably go downstairs and cook some (charred) breakfast in Nellie's place. She had to bear a lot of protests from Dan about wanting to sleep for five minutes more, but thankfully they had separate destinations—him in the…somewhere around the campus, and Amy in the Student Council Office.

It was so early in the morning that one would think that the university campus should barely be even alive. But no. Amy could see students preparing to decorate this and that, and starting to open shop as they carried their little booths out in the campus where they could sell all their remaining goodies. It still looked just as festive, and, today, being the final day of the Founders' Week, the students worked as vigorously as ever to have more fun than ever. In fact, Amy could already hear loud party music blaring throughout the campus this early in the morning.

Now, as she walked down the hallway and yawned into a hand once more, two girls in cheerleading uniforms approached her and asked what the big deal was about last night. They were wondering why the Elite Seven vs. Student Council Showdown was 'such a disappointing let-down'.

"Huh?" Amy looked a bit confused. She remembered giving Cara some final reminders that she wouldn't be attending the night party at all. "Didn't the Student Council pose as a band for you?"

"Yeah! Last night rocked! The Elites did, like, an awesome job. Again. But what happened to the Student Council? Did they, like, back out in fear or something? I mean, their Cotton Candy Tree is—"

"—and don't forget Ian Kabra's seven-layered gelatos!" the other girl chimed in dreamily, like she was thinking of the Lucian as her mighty knight on his white horse and shining armour.

"What _Lizzie_ is trying to say here," said the other as she nudged her friend jokingly, "is that we all sort of expected that you'd build up a circus and do acrobatics or make it rain hamburgers or something exaggerated like that. I mean, the band you built up was cool, but…to be honest…it was sorta… _lame_ …I mean, compared to the Elite Seven…"

"And their blimp and their dancers and their fireworks and their seven-layered gelatos!" Lizzie sighed, obviously caught up in a trance worthy of a fairy-tale. "Ian is so…great…and smart…and _handsome_ …oh god, and his English is, like, to _die_ for…like he's lived in a castle all his life or something…"

Amy tried not to wince at Lizzie's obvious liking of Ian. "What did the Elites do last night? The seven-layered gelatos again?"

"The blimp and gelatos didn't leave the picture, but the theme changed—instead of Irish dancers, the entire setting last night was Victorian English. We did the party in the grand hall of the Lucian building— _why doesn't our Tomas building have a grand hall?_ —but the party was so… _awesome_. I'm guessing Ian prepared all that fancy-schmancy things." The other girl shook her head. "Ian couldn't be seen anywhere last night, though. But that didn't make a difference in the performance of the Elites—oh god, they're going to _win_ this. Jonah Wizard alone could defeat the entire Student Council band. No offense," she added.

Amy fought a terrible wave of disappointment washing through her. Alright. At this rate, the Council was going to _lose_. Ian didn't fight fair. He had _money_. The Student Council's funds just couldn't afford rivalling Ian's standards. Amy didn't understand why Ian was taking this competition a bit _too_ seriously—the cashier was only asking them for a silver platter, but Ian was giving the whole golden table. She was starting to shrink and shrink and _shrink_ with every little second having to tolerate the fact that Ian Kabra, her lifelong nemesis, would always be better than her.

"Oh! And why were _you_ absent last night too?" The girl arched an eyebrow, crossed her arms, and passed Amy a teasing look, unaware of her discomfort talking about Ian. "Did you and Ian finally go on, like, a secret date?"

Amy looked like a bomb had been thrown at her with the way she backpedalled from them in shock.

" _What?"_

"Oh, nothing." The girl rolled her eyes. "Practically everyone in the campus notices it, and yet you two are so _dense_ …"

" _What?!"_

" _Nothing_." The girl pulled her friend Lizzie (who was still daydreaming about her Prince Charming) by the arm and waved dismissively at Amy over her shoulder. "Well, we gotta do the final rehearsal for the _Cahills' Got Talent_ grand finals. Wish us luck!"

"Okay. Good luck." Amy waved at them in a friendly manner and started walking away. But then she realized something and whirled around to tell them of another thing. "Oh, and I almost forgot! Vote for the Student Council, alright? Um…guys?"

The cheerleaders had already disappeared around the corner and didn't get to hear Amy's last pronouncement.

Amy lowered both her hands at her sides and decided that she better take an example out of the cheerleaders: she should get started on _working_ , this early in the day. For this final night's final showdown. _The students were disappointed last night, and I would not let that happen again._ What was she thinking last night, anyway, ditching her duties as a student-in-charge of an organization? She ran down the hallway—the Student Council Office was located just at the end of it—and when she finally got there, she let herself get a few precious intakes of oxygen.

But just as her hand landed onto the doorknob, she suddenly resisted from twisting it to open the door…because a shockwave went through her when she heard a familiar voice speak from within the room.

What was Eriele Cienfuegos _doing_ in there?

..

Cara Pierce felt appalled of the person before her who she had once thought of as a dear friend.

"…and ha, there they go down the drain, where those _Litters_ deserve to be!" howled Eriele in a maniacal laughter typical of a rabid villainess in some sort of fantasy movie or something. "And it's all because of my _brilliant_ plan! Wouldn't you say, Cara, my bestie? I would never have done this without your hacking genius."

"You're right, of course," said Cara, forcing the words out through her lips even though what she'd actually wanted to say was _No, you wouldn't have, you psychotic buffoon_. But Cara swallowed down said words. Well, yes, she was a _Pierce_ , steel-nerved daughter of the great J. Rutherford, an aspirant of American presidency, and it was uncharacteristic of her to stay timid in a situation like this—or in _any_ situation for that matter. But Eriele here…she had been a friend for a long time. Cara couldn't say anything cruel to her because her tongue was in shambles, put in a stalemate by the slightest drop of fear…fear that Eriele may have gone a bit too far in her hatred against the Elites.

Cara had been tasked to track all activities that had been done by the Kabra by tracing his digital footprints on the school's Wi-Fi signal and all those other electrical fibre signals that any non-Ekaterina would take a hard time to comprehend. Eriele had also demanded that Cara hack Jonah Wizard's e-mail account, and, well, Cara had to be impressed of the elaborate security traps fabricated to protect the celebrity, though not impressed enough—getting through the seven-layered security systems had merely felt like a warm-up to a more complicated computer challenge for Cara. She had been hesitant to do it from the start, because she was well aware of mail meddling being a federal crime, but in the end…well. Cara couldn't stand up against Eriele, fearing that she would lose her forever if she did so.

No one knows this, but Cara valued her friendship with Eriele deeply. Eriele was, after all, the first person who had ever befriended that nerd girl in the corner, the first who had ever seen her Ekaterina talents and appreciated it for what it was, the first who had ever told her that she was a valuable member in their group, the first time that Cara had _ever_ worked in a group…

But Cara couldn't see that same kind person in Eriele now. Because, once all hacking methods had been done and over with, Eriele had stretched her fingers and then she'd typed up a message that Cara wasn't allowed to see, and then Eriele had sent it. When Cara had asked what Eriele had just done, Eriele had proudly proclaimed that she'd sent a despicable message over to Madame Cora Wizard that is sure to disqualify the Elites and make the Student Council the winner of this little competition.

When Cara had pushed her way to see the e-mail's entirety, it contained a very despicable message indeed—despicable enough for her to start seeing Eriele, her best friend, in a new kind of light. A bad light.

"Tell me I did a good job, Cara," said Eriele smugly. "With what I did over there, the Elite Seven will be falling on their knees before _us_ , the Student Council!"

Inwardly, Cara is really feeling disgusted towards this...corrupt, _insane_ president obsessed over the Elite Seven—the same person who she had once considered as a friend. She hated that she always felt powerless in standing up against a cheater like her. For years, it had been like this. Ever since they reached high school, Eriele had gotten into the habit of sabotaging the school's test database with her other hacker friends, Hanna and Samantha, and all those time Cara did little effort in standing up against their wrongdoings, because, despite all her Piercian bravado…she felt _powerless_.

But then, suddenly, Eriele seemed to get the drift that Cara hadn't been listening at all. "What? Aren't you happy? You helped me in a grand scheme of bringing those Cheaters-Litters down. You _sabotaged_ Jonah Wizard's account—and that's saying something, because he's got those seven-layered security systems and all those things you've been telling me about. You are Cara Pierce, and you are my Vice President. We'd rule the campus without those Litters, bestie. Don't you want that?"

Cara's conscience couldn't take it anymore. This time, she decided, _this time_ , she'd stand up for herself and defy Eriele Cienfuegos, even if she was her best friend. Boldly, she stepped forward her and started, "Eriele, maybe we should—"

But it was in that precise moment when the door suddenly barged open with a very outrageous Amy.

Cara's eyes widened. Oh no. Amy? Had she heard what they were actually…

As if she had read her thoughts exactly, Amy pointedly threw her gaze over Eriele, and then, at Pierce.

"I can't believe you, Cara!" she apprehended. "How can I have teamed up with you and…and…and leave Ian…" There was a noticeable change of colour on the skin on her neck, and Amy promptly chose to change her wording. "…leave _them_ like that? This is supposed to be the Founders' Festival. This is supposed to be a _celebration_. Not like…like this!" She gestured at the room, as though it were the very thing that represented this whole mess in the first place.

Eriele took a shaking step backward, quite shocked that her master plan was foiled by a meddling Litter. Her master plan, it seems, had not been masterful enough.

"If you even _dare_ tell this to Madame Wizard…" she threatened, but it only pathetically bounced back at her from Amy's petrous green eyes.

"Amy," said Cara, who was starting to realise the trouble that she'd be put into once this under-school activity reached the principal, the Elite Seven executive, or even worse, the university president herself. "Just let me explain—"

"Allow me," said Sinead Starling, who had stepped into the doorway and shocked the three girls in the room. "I know it was you, Cara."

"Sinead!"

"Scanning through all the university records was the hard part, but I got to it." Sinead raised up the paper in her hand up in the air. "And the patterns match."

Cara knew what this meant for her. If she didn't explain herself fast, then the two new friends she had made in the past few days would be…

"Please. Hear me out first. See, it was Eriele—"

"Oh, so _now_ you're putting the blame on _me?_ "

Cara reddened. "Well, you _did_ force me to—"

" _Enough!_ " The argument immediately stopped and the three pairs of eyes turned to Amy, who was obviously fuming silently from the background. "Enough. I've heard enough." She raised her eyes to meet Cara's. "I quit the competition!" Then, she ran out of that room as fast as she could, past Sinead who stared after her in a well-hidden shock.

Cara attempted to run after her—

" _Amy, wait!"_

—but Sinead caught her shoulder.

"Don't," said her fellow Ekaterina.

"But I have to _apologize_ ," insisted Cara. "I destroyed her trust and I…she might never forgive me again…"

Sinead paused at that, and with good reason. "Weren't _you_ the one behind all of this? Asking for forgiveness is not typical villain behavior."

"No." Cara scratched her neck in a sheepish manner and looked away to hide the redness in her face. "Well. I was. But…I didn't _want_ to. Eriele…"

A flash of…of something passed through Sinead's eyes. Sinead took one look at Eriele and immediately understood the situation, at least on a theoretical level. Cara, however, as witty and sharp and dianoetic her mind was, was fumbling with her thoughts. Understanding? Was that actually…understanding in Sinead's eyes?

"Whatever personal issue that is, I'm sure that can be brought across with an explanation." Despite the situation, strange as it already was, Sinead actually _smiled_ an understanding smile—it looked strange to Cara that someone like Sinead Starling who founded her whole self in logic could ever understand another person's feelings. Sinead then stared after the running form of Amy, a faraway gleam in the Starling's eyes, as if she was remembering something from the past. "Amy Cahill is a Madrigal. I know she'd forgive you. Just give her some time and an explanation…and I know she'd forgive you."

Then she shook the sentimentality off and gave Cara a stern look. "Don't attempt to go anywhere near Amy to hurt her." And with that, she ran after her friend, leaving Cara blinking bewilderedly after her and Eriele biting at her nails.

"Ugh. Friendship is so overrated," exclaimed Eriele, although inwardly she already feared another suspension letter on her doorstep anytime now.

.—..

_Why did I even join the Student Council in the first place?_

Amy's footsteps thundered as she walked through the hallways, ignoring the stares of the confused students as she passed through them.

 _What were Sinead and I_ thinking _at that time?_

Her thoughts were louder than anything else around her. They overruled the chatter of the partying students, the loud rapping music blaring from the campus speakers, the distant hollers of excited students from the basketball stadium as they cheered for the Blue Boars, the roaring chants of a group of people ("Kiss her! Kiss her!") from the Kissing Booth urging the boy to kiss the girl.

 _Was I_ that _shallow, doing everything I can,_ just _to be able to compete against him?_

There was a group of cheery entrepreneurs-to-be who wanted to sell her some homemade bracelets made of beads out of coffee beans, but Amy had merely walked through them and left them confused in her silent wake.

_How could I have forgotten?_

She stopped walking, her chest alternately inflating and deflating, her breathing shallow and quick after her long walk from the main campus building to the secluded MadriGreen Conservatory. She stood in front of the said greenhouse, her fists by her side and her eyes trained onto the green glass doors, although her mind's eye was starting to see something else that was far beyond that.

How could she have been so _blind?_

The main reason that Amy joined the Student Council's side and abandoned the Elite Seven in exchange for it was because she felt like she and Cara had the same ache of always being treated as secondary, second-best, second, second, _second_. Amy thought that she and Cara Pierce had the same feelings, that they could be _friends_. Apparently…not. She felt it right that she would have to join forces with Cara against their mutual enemy: Ian Kabra. She understood that this was a shallow reason for anyone else, (one side of her actually agrees with this statement), but the word 'Second'...well, it was a…sore subject that she could never even start discussing with herself. Not in a situation like this.

But she'd been so selfish.

Amy burst through MadriGreen's doors, feet pounding like hammers onto the pebbled trail path, and stood in front of a busy Ian, seated on his chair as usual, fingers flying over his keyboard.

She'd been so _stupid_.

Ian shut the lid of his laptop down the keyboard, his eyes rudely staring straight ahead of him as if looking at Amy alone would offend his royal retinas.

" _What?"_

Amy did not let his bitterness get to her. "I almost forgot," she said. "Festivals are something to be enjoyed by everyone. It's not supposed to be like this at _all_. I quit the competition." She said it with such a straight face that it rendered him almost speechless.

"What…are you…" He still didn't look at her, still staring straight ahead, but there was that noticeable change in his tense shoulders as if something physically heavy had been lifted up from them. "…saying?"

"Ian, answer me." Amy put a firm hand onto Ian's shoulder, her voice hard with resolve and decision. "Is it fun to do it on your own?"

Ian looked at Amy, his amber eyes trying to search for that one thing he wanted to see in her green ones.

Pleased that Ian had looked at her, Amy's grip on his shoulder relaxed, even just a little bit, as did her voice—though her eyes remained just as hard and resolute. "I…I won't be happy even if I beat you in this contest. It's no good without…" A blush spread across her face, but she kept her eyes focused straight onto his. "…w-without _you_ having any fun. It's better to do this thing with others. This is why we're even celebrating the Founders' Festival in the first place. This is the reason why Grace let us have a whole week to ourselves—to keep the Cahills a _family_." The blush on her face calmed down, and her green eyes, this time, softened as she came to the conclusion of her small, perfectly reasonable argument.

"So…would you like to do this…" With slightly trembling fingers, Amy sought to gather Ian's hand into hers, enfolding it in hers to put more emphasis into that one word that she was about to say.

"…together?"

And so, in that precise second, Ian found what he was looking for.

_"I-Ian?"_

_Ian stilled his patience. It was once again Amy, that stubborn, stuttering, infuriating girl who ranked second below him in class—and who also somehow happened to have very good persuasion techniques, despite her being one of the weak and pathetic Madrigals who praised the pacifistic Nelson Mandela, whereas he was a Lucian who revered Niccolo Machiavelli's ideas on despotic autocracy. Ian paid her no heed as he merely continued reading_ The Lucian Code _, thinking that if he ignored her, she'd eventually get the clue and steer clear of him already._

 _But apparently she just couldn't_ get _the clue._

 _"N-no one w-wants me on anyone's group," she said, her eyes intensely fascinated with her shoes that had been apparently bought from a garage sale. "And I c-can't do it alone. I would...need your help." She blushed, looking like she was giving it her very all_ not _to try to cry in front of_ the _Ian Kabra. She shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, and then she looked at him, straight into the eyes, and jumped forward to grasp at his hands from across his tiny kindergarten table, tightening her hands around his fingers in increasing distress._

_Ian could only react in silent shock. Why on Earth would this girl…_

_Young Amy, however, didn't seem bothered at all by the shock she had caused him with all that she'd said. She was a_ Madrigal _—bold, brave, pacifistic, and her grandmother Grace was right: at this young an age, she was already showing everyone else that her shyness was_ not _getting in the way of her kindness…_

… _kindness that Ian Kabra saw in its purest form for the very first time in his entire life._

" _Do you want to work on this project...together?"_

Amy looked down at Ian, expecting his answer with such anxiety that she almost felt the physical pain of something nasty gnawing at her own stomach. Everything else had fallen silent, as if the nature around them itself was anticipating the word to come out of his lips already.

"Y...yes." Then he cleared his throat, hating the way he'd spoken with a tremble. And he repeated the word, this time with conviction. "Yes."

Amy smiled, took both of Ian's hands in hers, and stooped down to level his eyes with hers. "Then let's get started." She gestured behind her. "Okay?"

Ian inclined his head to the side to look at what Amy had just motioned for him to see—and then that was when he saw them. He was shocked at the sight of them _all_ , gathered from behind Amy as if they'd already planned this whole thing all along. Hamilton winked at him knowingly, Sinead passed over to him an acknowledging nod, Natalie, in her ball gown, was giving Dan a disgusted groan, and the latter was rolling his eyes at all the drama that he was starting to find sappy.

"This party," said Jonah, "…is just about to get slammin'!" He flashed that perfect celebrity smile and tapped Ian onto the shoulder, an action that Ian naturally found…peculiar. "Right, bro?"

.—..

For the first time since they'd all met, the top seven students of Cahill University were not trying to kill each other.

Mostly.

"BUT I THOUGHT WE'RE GOING _SPACE!_ "

" _No_. The theme of the party is already set to be classical European, so shut your whining, _Daniel_."

He barely gave note to that last emphatic word that had rolled out of her tongue like it was acid. " _Classical_ European? Ugggghhhh. Why do you snot-nosed Brits have to act so stuck-up all the time?"

"Snot- _what?_ Ugh, the vulgarity. I believe, Daniel, that the word you're looking for is _sophisticated_. Perhaps royal. After all, we do live in a country ruled by a refined and cultivated Queen, unlike _you_ barbarians who worship some sort of baboon living in a glorified stable."

"Hey! At least _our_ president actually _does_ his job, not just sitting around like you Mommy's boys and girls with _your_ precious Queen drinking disgusting dried leaves with her spoiled little brats. Seriously, you Brits and your tea-stained brains…"

Natalie burst in outrage. "How dare you! You simian know nothing about civilization, and you dare insult true European classical tastes?"

"You're talking about _tastes_ and you want to play some dead German grandpa dude's retro music in the party?"

Natalie tolerantly rubbed the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes close, the gesture itself communicating her apparent distress on how such a being belonging to the human race could ever be so _daft_. "One, his name is Johann Sebastian Bach. And two, it's not 'retro' music, it's _classical_ music."

"Right. Classical music titled _Tampon_ or something."

A mortified Natalie blushed at Dan's insensitivity to femininity. "You illiterate git! It's _Chaconne_."

"Whatever! _I want some kickbutt Star Wars music at the party!_ "

"No. We're doing classical _._ "

"Star Wars!"

" _Classical!"_

"Hey bros, doesn't anyone want le Wiz's mu—"

"NO!" Natalie and Dan said simultaneously, still glaring at each other from across the opposite sides of the table, eyes raging ravenously hungry for murder. Well, at least _that's_ something they could agree upon.

"Aww, dudes, just give it a chance!" Jonah had already put a handheld speaker in front of him onto the table and had started connecting it with the playlist on his phone through Bluetooth. His platinum award-winning _Gangstas Have Feelings Too_ suddenly blared out to shatter the eardrums of his respective classmates that even MadriGreen's glass screens itself seemed to cringe at the loud musical glitz. An annoyed Sinead, who had been sketching on her sketch pad this whole time, had violently flinched causing her hand to twitch and the pencil to skid over the paper in a jagged line. Jonah was absolutely oblivious, mistaking the look on his classmates' faces as utter amazement instead of utter pleas of mercy for their offended ears. "Now THIS is what we call the legendary music of the twenty-first century, bros!"

The look on Sinead's face, however, was of utter disbelief as she stared over at her previously-spotless sketch of the electrical plan she'd set for the upcoming finale of the school festivities, now sullied by that one, little jagged line in the corner that would take _ages_ to erase completely with her decrepit rubber eraser. The sketch was so convoluted with details about electrical installation sites, magnetoelectric machineries (which would serve as their autogenerators), lights, speakers, and other entertainment devices, step-up transformers, wiring locations, and heterodyne and crystal oscillators, all drawn and designed in scientific precision by the hand of a high school student that any expert electrical engineer on his highest standard would skitter away like a headless chicken in tears of utter shame. It was a sketch worthy of a junior Nobel Prize in Engineering, and Sinead hadn't even minded being in the midst of such a noisy surrounding as long as she could work just fine—but, oh, blast that stupid Wizard's so-called music, that _little jagged line_ …

"Sinead," groaned Natalie, "would you _please_ tell that buffoon beside you to turn off that virile noise you lowborn _Americans_ call music?"

"Hey!" said Jonah, staring mildly offended at Sinead who had obligingly obeyed Natalie's orders and had turned off his speakers, abruptly setting the environment to silence once more.

Or not.

"Oh, so _now_ you're saying American music is _lame?_ " said Dan, defending Jonah (who had tiptoed his fingers over the table and turned on his speakers once again and grinned over at a groaning Sinead.)

"I'm not saying it's lame," responded Natalie, shouting over the blaring pop music which was easy for her to ignore with all the arguments starting to crowd in her skull once again. Ugh, why did it always have to be like _this_ whenever she talked to this insubordinate yobo? "I'm saying it's cheap, stupid, tasteless, and _classless_."

" _Everything_ around you is classless!"

"Well, because they _are!"_

"Ugh, you ugh-worthy gnat. Not everything is made to fit your stupid _class._ "

"That," pointed out Natalie, "is what I've been trying to _tell_ you."

"Eh? Really?" Dan looked left and right, a confused expression splattered all over his oblivious face. "We were actually _talking_ about something?"

Facepalm. "You blithering _idiot_."

"Oh, so _now_ I'm an idiot for pointing out your _snootiness_."

Natalie was just the tiniest nanometer away from hurling that vase over to what she assumed was Dan's brainless skull. "Why, you foolish—"

And then the fight started all over again. The conversation circled and circled and circled around in a never-ending cycle of senseless bantering, with Jonah's pop music blaring in the background. The Wizard rolled his eyes good-naturedly over at those two arguing grannies. Ever since he'd been here, he'd sort of gotten used to them arguing over every single little thing—kind of like how Amy and that Kabra dude always fought over first place, and how he and Sinead and Hamilton always somehow got into a swastika wrestling match whenever good ol' Hamburger came around to, y'know, hang out with them. In his first few weeks as an Elite student, he found this kind of atmosphere in the MadriGreen quite…

…awesome.

Because even if they practically did nothing all day long but argue over every single little thing, now that the tension between the Student Council and the Elite Seven had ceased into calm, he was able to actually appreciate what he had that most regular students didn't: a sense of belonging akin to a real family. Whenever he entered the MadriGreen, whenever he heard people over here arguing (like Dan and Natalie over there, who somehow ended up arguing about potato chips), it felt more and more like a home.

Jonah hadn't realized that he had closed his eyes contentedly as he rocked himself back and forth in his chair, jamming to the music blaring from his mini speakers combined with the arguing voices of Dan and Natalie in the background. _Oh, whoa, oh, ain't nothin' gonna stop me now, this Gangsta's back in town, and I'm gonna rock the hou—_

The music stopped. Jonah snapped his eyes open and found that the mini-speaker in front of him had been turned off. Almost as if automatically, the Wiz whirled his head around to look at Starbucks, who continued sketching things off on that sketch pad of hers. Narrowing his eyes suspiciously at her, the rapper turned on the speakers once more, leaned back on his chair, and started jamming again.

… _gonna rock the house, yeah…we're flippin' it upside-dow—_

Jonah was immediately alert. He opened his eyes, and trained them on the mini-speakers. They were turned off. He looked at Sinead, a look on his face. She was still sketching just as innocently as ever as if nothing had ever happened, even though it was clear that _she_ was the culprit behind this. Natalie and Dan were still arguing something about Prada and lightsabers.

And potato chips.

Jonah reached over the table, and turned on the speakers again. He deliberately watched Sinead until the Ekaterina decided to reach over to turn it off, then returned to sketching once again.

Jonah reached over to turn them on.

Sinead reached over to turn them off.

Jonah reached over to turn them on.

And Sinead reached over to turn them off. Satisfied of her little trick, she reclined back on her chair with that triumphant look on her face before she then continued working.

Suspiciously glancing over at the Ekat, Jonah reached over to turn them on. But then, when his gold-ringed finger hadn't succeeded on flicking it on with the button…he suddenly came to the realization that they weren't working. He felt sudden panic rise in his chest—they weren't _working!_ He took the speakers, shook them, and did the ancient Gadget Reawakening Ritual by slapping them repeatedly and pounding them onto the table. Still nothing. He saw Sinead trying to look serious, though it was obvious that she was trying to push down that maleficent cackle of utter villainy. The gall! Jonah immediately knew what kind of trick Sinead was doing now—she was trying to _flirt_ with him. That's right. She was trying to flirt with him!

"Hey! I know you're a science genius and all, but you can't just turn off someone else's speakers like that!"

Sinead smirked, combining it with a casual shrug as she sketched just as casually onto her sketch pad. "I just did."

Jonah was just about to pass her his own lazy smirk and witty remark when—

"ALRIGHT!" It was Hamilton, and he'd just popped up seemingly from out of nowhere. "Thank goodness all that ridiculous Student Council mojo was all over. It sure didn't feel right without _this!_ " And then he punched Sinead playfully on the shoulder. Which resulted in a violent slip of the hand and a drag of the pencil to draw an even larger jagged line all over the entire sketch plan.

" _No!"_ wailed Sinead, hysterical over the sketch plan that she'd been pouring all her precious effort and energy over for the past hour now. First the Wizard, then the Dolt. What IS the problem of these boys anyway?

"What?" Hamilton stared at a distressed Sinead. He had no idea what just happened.

"Whoa, Hammer, what've you—"

"Would you just cut that _out_ , Tomas?" interrupted Sinead, slapping Hamilton on the head to sanction the escape of an offended 'Ow!' from his lips.

"Th-that was just a playful punch on the shoulder, man!" Ham said, raising up both his arms in front of him in an X as if to ward off any sort of wandering ancient African evil spirit.

"You just destroyed the whole electrical plan, you _Dolt!_ "

Jonah decided that it was probably his time to shine. "Yeah, come on, Hamburger, punching a _girl?"_ He got up from his chair to show off a hint of bravado emanating from his visible external awesomeness, like the mighty knight in the shining armour off to rescue his damsel in distress. "Not very macho, man. She's just a girl!"

And, suddenly, just like that, Sinead's attention snapped sharply from Hamilton to Jonah. _"What_ did you say? _Just_ a _girl?_ "

This completely threw him off. "Wait, what?" Jonah thought that all he was doing was defending d'chick, but now d'chick had suddenly turned into a… _gasp_...a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Really says a lot about chickens being the descendants of dinosaurs.

"Are you insulting me because I'm a girl, Wizard?" Sinead challenged, getting up from her chair and then pushing up the sleeves of her arms to show off a mass of muscles. Or lack thereof. "I'll show _you_ what's macho—"

Jonah frantically pointed at Hamilton, stepping back to avoid the Wrath of Sinead Starling. " _He_ started it!"

Hamilton's eyes widened, and he then incredulously put a hand over his chest in a very offended manner. "Dude, I am injured."

"Well, I never—"

"—well, SHE never—"

"The _heck_? _You're_ the one who—"

"—punched her first—"

"—get yourself _punched_ —"

"—but her punches are—"

"—don't care how she _punches_ —"

"Did someone just say punch? Good idea! Let's do ORANGE FLAVOUR!"

Sinead, Ham, and Jonah blankly looked at Dan.

"I…di…ot," groaned Natalie.

Hearing all those normal day-to-day arguments made Ian's lips move upward in a microscopic twitch as he typed into his laptop. "Normally, I wouldn't take requests from you, but orange punch it is." He then pressed _Enter_ with a flourish.

And that's when the glass doors shattered open.

" _Hellooooo, peeps of d'house!"_

The confused Elites looked up, but only Sinead, Dan, and Natalie recognized the newcomer—a punked up girl with a snake nose-ring whose hair looked like a nuclear explosion of blue, green, white, and…was that neon _pink?_

" _Nellie?!"_ Sinead, Dan, and Natalie had that trace of disbelief in their voices. They haven't seen much of Nellie for a while now, so it was totally out of the blue that she had to show up _today_ , of all days.

"The one and only," she said, strolling down the pebbled path over to them with a bright smile on her face.

"Who?" Jonah and Hamilton asked in unison, both of whom who completely felt left out. As new members of the Elite Seven, they didn't know much about Amy and Dan's personal lives or about them having a babysitter.

Nellie slapped her palm down onto the mahogany table in front of Ian. "So, Cobra," she started, "you called?"

"Indeed, I have." He reached over the table to grab a sheet of papers. "Perfect timing. Now, this is what I want you to—"

"Oh. My. _Gosh_." Nellie almost dropped her phone in shock as she stared at the person across the table. A confused Jonah looked left and right and pointed a finger at himself as if he wasn't sure if she was really looking at him. Her next words confirmed his thoughts. "Is that…is that Jonah _Wizard?_ No. Freaking. _Way_. Wow! This is crazy! I thought my kiddos were bluffing when they said they're classmates with THE Jonah Wizard! Oh gosh, you look _really_ real up close! I mean, of _course_ you look real, but, you know, I never actually _thought_ I'd be shaking hands with you in person, cause I only watched you in TV and you looked SO cool on your last magazi—oh my gosh, I'm actually _shaking hands_ with you in person! I should take a pic of this…oh crud, m'phone's dead…Dan, can I borrow yours? One, two, _aaaand_ smile! Ugh, Dan, what _are_ you glaring at? I just borrowed your phone for ONE sec, for cryin' out loud…oh god, I can't get over it. You're REALLY classmates with _the_ Jonah Wizard! This. Is so. _Cool!_ "

Jonah Wizard smirked. Ah. He hadn't been going out of town since he'd started school, and he hadn't been getting much love from his beloved fans ever since then, so of course he _loved_ this sort of attention he was getting.

But it irritated Sinead. "Nellie, please behave. You're feeding his god complex."

That stroke a match. "Hey!"

"Oh, don't be such a grouch, Sinead. For crying out loud, he's—he's—he's THE Jonah Wizard, _the_ _international_ _star!_ "

The Tomas who stood from behind Jonah loudly cleared his throat. "Hamilton Holt here."

But he was ignored. "Oh, no," said Jonah, almost sounding as if he was modest, even though he was so _not_. "I'm not _just_ an international star now. I'm leveling up my career to the next level—as an international supernova, babe."

From the background, Sinead and Natalie almost hurled at the last word.

Nellie was still absorbed in the picture of her and Jonah on Dan's phone. "Fifi's SO gonna go nuts over this pic. She wouldn't believe I just shook hands with the Jonah Wizard. Thanks a bunch!"

"Yep. That's me. Where am I signing?"

"Signing?" Nellie was confused for a second, and then she got his drift. "Uh, no, I'm not getting an autograph from you—this is my fave tee. Sorry, dude, but my heart already belongs to _Single Cell Paramecium_."

Jonah was then rendered shocked and Sinead laughed a very unladylike guffaw.

"Um, what are _you_ doing here?" asked a repulsed Natalie, who didn't take much of a fancy in Amy and Dan's nose-ringed nanny. She'd been staring at her hair all this time now, and she _still_ just couldn't grasp how such a girl with a lack of taste could ever exist on the surface of the planet.

Ian cleared his throat. "As I was saying. This is the list you've requested, Nellie." Nellie walked over to him and grabbed the papers from his hand, her eyes quickly scanning it up and down. As she was doing so, Ian was almost timid to ask, but in the end he did. "Isn't Amy…with you?"

"Nope, she went off for a bit and said that she's going to go do something."

"Oh." He almost sounded disappointed…at least to Natalie's ears, who was rolling her eyes at her brother's pottiness. "And has she already explained to you about all the…?"

Nellie passed over at him a mock salute. "Aye-aye, Cap'n. I just needed to get this menu. And then we're gonna be off to cook you up a storm."

"'We'?" inquired Dan.

"Oui," replied Nellie. "I've brought my friends—a whole stampeding herd of future gourmet chefs from class. They're outside. Oh, and how's this whole party thing going anyway?"

"Well, regarding that…" Ian cleared his throat for a moment, as if he was contemplating whether he should share his plans or not (Lucians were taught to be cautious of sharing strategies with anyone, telling them not to trust even their closest friends), but then he remembered his agreement with Amy and then decided to start speaking. "I was…thinking of revising my plans to make it grander. Ah…well…the setup for the grounds is almost ready, but…I want to ask each of you to do something." He looked like he was having a hard time trying to lower himself into an almost-humble status, needing their help and all. Blast that Madrigal, rubbing her kindness off on him… "Wizard…Jonah. I would n…" He cleared his throat again. He seemed to be getting into the habit. "…need your help the most."

This was rather bewildering. "Oh, really?" said Jonah, who walked over and looked at Ian's laptop screen. Ian showed him something through a cursor. Then Jonah smiled and patted Ian on the back twice. "That's a simple request, bro. Let's get this magic show on the road. This partay's gonna go blasting like a _Wizard!_ "

Natalie stared, wide-eyed, at Jonah Wizard, dreams of a classical European party being crushed to the ground. "I- _Ian?!_ Did you just ask that—that _insubordinate ruffian_ for _help?_ Have you lost _class?_ "

Dan held his head in his hands. "But I thought we're going _space!_ "

"Hey! Stop insulting my music. It's called _art_ , in case you didn't know. Have you even _tried_ listening to my songs yet?"

Sinead huffed. "She doesn't _need_ to listen to know—"

"But how're you gonna know if you don't even—"

"—well, because it _shows_ that—"

"—ugh, what I'm worried about is the _class_ —"

"— _No!_ Star Wars is—"

"—stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong!"

"—Starbucks, I know you're just flirting with me, but seriously, not a good job—"

" _Flirting?!_ What the hell are you—"

"Ooooo, kiddo, you _know_ how to _flirt?_ "

" _No!"_

"YEAH! I'm with Wizard! Why are _you_ always—"

"—what Hamburger said!"

"—to listen to any of you _idiots_ —"

Dan. Hamilton. Jonah. Natalie. Nellie. Sinead. (Listed in alphabetical order.)

Ugh.

Ian was getting distressed at all this unnecessary noise, holding two of his fingers on the bridge of his nose. "Everyone, would you just _please…_ "

"Oh, hello, everyone!"

Everyone then turned their heads and were shut up, and Ian was suddenly alert and put out of his distress. "Amy?"

Nellie turned. "Ames!"

"Hi, Amy," said Sinead, who looked relieved of her arrival. "Thank goodness, someone decent."

Ian reclined in his chair, sitting on it like it was a throne, passing Amy one of his gentler smirks. "Ah, Miss Lovely Rank Two. I see you've returned…" The smirk was then overpowered by a confused eyebrow, arched curiously at the blond girl she'd brought with her. "…with a fellow second-class student?"

The girl blushed, abruptly looking away from his acute amber eyes, not liking the feeling she got whenever he stared at her like that. "D…Don't call me second-class, _dingbat_."

It was Cara Pierce.

Jonah's huge smile lessened into two teeth. "And what's _she_ doing here?"

Amy immediately stood between him and Cara, defending her from any onslaught of words that Cara might get from the enemy she'd just made the day before. Cara looked shocked of Amy's sudden protectiveness, not at all expecting anyone to defend her what with all the horrible things that she'd just done, even though indirectly. And meanwhile, for some reason, a contented look washed over Sinead's face, watching the entire scene, almost as if she was proud of the success of a hypothesis. She knew it—nothing would stop Amy from hating everyone in the world. She'd forgiven Cara already, just as easily, like she had Sinead. It was in her Madrigal blood to forgive and understand. That's what made Amy stronger than anyone else in the Elite Seven, Sinead realized. Ian was just a fly getting in the way.

Amy stood her ground. "Don't worry, Jonah. She's explained everything to me, and, trust me, it's not her fault. Not entirely. The blame is totally on Eriele. We've resolved the matters about the false e-mail over to your mom, and Cara here…is ready to face the punishments." She looked at Jonah in the eyes. "So…no need for things to get intense."

"Alright…"Jonah lowered his defenses. "If you say so…"

Sinead had just finished erasing that annoying jagged line on her paper and she was brushing away the remnants off of her sketch pad with a hand. "And so I'm guessing Eriele is suspended…?"

"…for another two weeks." Amy smiled, rather Lucianly. "And she is stripped off of her president title, making the position permanent—" she patted her Ekaterina companion on the shoulder— "on Cara here."

She was met with congratulations from the Elites, who nodded their approval—except of course, for Jonah, who still didn't trust this suspicious girl who had hacked his e-mail account and ratted him out in front of his mother.

"…I just hope you don't have plans of sabotaging us."

Someone cleared her throat to steer the subject clear of any more of this unhealthy negativity. "Well then, congratulations, President Pierce." Sinead passed a nasty look over at Jonah, and then gave Cara a shrug of the shoulders, telling her the message to not mind the Wizard. Cara hesitated for a moment…and then settled for a gentle smile. She mouthed 'Thank you'.

Sinead nodded at her in acknowledgement, a smile on her face as well. She was glad she could help. Then she looked over at Ian and Amy, who were flirti—er, _arguing_ over which was better for use in the luxury party: cotton candy or gelato. Amy was getting red in the cheeks, and Ian was laughing at her in a very mocking manner because of something she'd just said. Sinead rolled her eyes. Seriously. The people around her…

"Oh, we'll just talk about that later, alright?" huffed Amy at him, tired of arguing. "Anyway. I need to ask you something." She gestured behind her, at a gulping Cara who, with Ian staring at her like that, suddenly felt awkward…for some reason she couldn't pinpoint with a finger. "Can you…let the Student Council join, too?"

Everyone fell silent. They all swiveled their heads to look at Ian. They wanted him to answer that question. Until he said, with a chuckle—

"Why not?"

..

Perhaps an explanation would be necessary at this point.

Contrary to what Sinead and Amy and the rest of the Elites previously believed, Cara Pierce was not at fault. Not entirely, at least. It was proven by further evidence that she was merely acting upon her previous president's orders. This was considerably legitimate, because once Eriele had finished serving her two-week suspension—which was almost over—she would once again take her place as president; therefore Cara, a mere subordinate, was obliged to obey her superior's orders as was the Council's laws, and understandably so.

There was also the false conception that Cara Pierce was the one who had writ that e-mail. _Wrong_. She hadn't had any part of it. Well, she had _hacked_ Jonah's account, but Eriele was the one who wrote it. The speed and typing patterns had only been tampered with by—who else—the one and only, Eriele Cienfuegos. Further insistence from Cara (her exact words being 'I didn't do it, I _swear_.') urged Sinead to repeat and do some further digital investigation, and the final verdict was this:

The speed and typing patterns, those little, seemingly insignificant data, had actually been tampered with by Cienfuegos to cover her dirty little tracks. She'd replaced them with Cara's patterns instead, therefore putting the dishonest blame on her. It had taken Sinead only fifteen minutes to dig out the true identity of the real culprit. Eriele may have been cunning, but she was not a true hacking expert who could build systems that were secure enough. Cara, however, could never imagine that Eriele, her best friend, would turn her back on her like that—but what could she do? Eriele had already broken their friendship because of her obsession on abolishing the Elite Seven. 'How cunning,' Ian had even commended, who'd been unusually calm at the time of her trial. Then he'd given Eriele a sly smile. 'But not cunning enough.'

Although, of course, even though Cara hadn't been the true culprit, she had still breached some federal laws by hacking a celebrity's account, and for that she was going to have to face some form of punishment (lighter than what Eriele would face, however.) 'I'll take anything.' It was impressive how she could say those words in front of the university president with such a straight face; Grace had been thoroughly approving.

Broderick Wizard, though, didn't act very well upon knowing this. He was livid when he found out that the person who'd been 'sneaking around my son' would serve her punishment only by cleaning a few corridors for three days. He'd demanded that Cara be imprisoned, reasoning that a hacker like her could put his celebrity son in actual danger, but thankfully Jonah had a bit more genteel perception about this situation. He'd convinced his Dad (the hard way) to chillax for a sec and stop egging on the girl, since the real culprit behind all of this was Eriele. The punishment that the Elite Seven Chief Executive had decided to put upon her was horrible enough, which ought to _really_ teach her a lesson.

That didn't mean that Jonah and Cara were on 'chillax' terms, however.

The story behind Cara being forgiven by Amy was a short one. It was easy enough. Upon the advice of Sinead, Cara had come to Amy, and explained to her the whole situation, honestly telling her of her involvement with the crime done—but of course, truthfully enough, she attributed the entire scheming to Eriele. This was what started the resolution, when everything started to get clear for Amy—and that's when she'd started to act by reporting immediately to Madame Wizard about Cara's innocence and Eriele's corruptness. Madame Wizard hadn't been as livid as Broderick when she knew that someone else had been hacking her son, but she _did_ show signs of twitching here and there. She clearly did not like the notion that her Jonah had been hacked by a total stranger.

All this nice ending was thanks to Sinead. She was the one who had come to Cara and talked to her about the whole situation, to let her explain herself, because somehow Sinead knew…Sinead understood. After all, she'd been in the same situation before, misunderstood by people because no one had listened. That would be another story to be told in another time. Sinead was the one who brought this matter to Amy, reconstructing the bridge that had been burned, proposing to Amy that Cara should be forgiven, that she was actually innocent. This fact sorta-kinda shocked Hamilton, especially since he didn't view the Starling as someone who'd go around singing Kumbaya and preaching about forgiveness. He got socked in the chin when he said that aloud. From that moment on, he'd decided, that opening his mouth whenever Sinead was around would not be a peachy idea.

The process of forgiveness was quick enough. It must've been the Madrigal spirit running through Amy's veins. Cara was…shocked, to say the least, because she hadn't expected at all that she'd be accepted back into what she previously thought as a short-lived friendship after all she'd done, no matter how direct or indirect. As a matter of fact, she'd already readied herself for some pretty harsh words from Sinead, or Amy, and heavens, she'd especially feared Ian, who she heard had been angry when he found out that the Elites had been disqualified from their little contest.

But…that chuckle. That voice. Those _eyes_. The way he'd said, 'Why not?' when Amy asked him if he could let the Council join in. It…stirred something inside of Cara. Like a herd of fluttering butterflies, millions of them living in her stomach that she honestly felt like she was going to hurl every time she thought of him. No, not just him— _all_ of them. Hamilton was such a sport, Dan a clown, Natalie a…well, a snob, (but she was kind enough to give her advice on how to dress properly in a luxury party), and Jonah, even though they weren't exactly friends yet, was accepting enough to give her his personal congratulations about the president position being permanent on her.

At that moment, Cara realized...that Eriele Cienfuegos was wrong. The Elite Seven are not so bad after all.

But then an image of Ian Kabra smirking at her flashed in her mind's eye like a nightmare.

" _I see you've returned…" He arched an eyebrow over at her. "…with a fellow second-class student?"_

Cara reddened immensely, and the people around her started to wonder why that Ekat girl from behind them was starting to yell at them for existing.

"Stop staring at me, you morons! _Stefan!_ Bring that cart over here!"

They were, after all, very busy preparing for the luxury party rescheduled tomorrow, Sunday night, and they had no time to daydream about such silly things.

...

After they had all dealt with the matter and all is set and settled, Ian addressed the people gathered before him.

" _I want each of you to do something."_

Without further ado, Ian had approved of Cara and her members working with them; and so the two school group and organization, the Elite Seven and the Council, jointly started working together to bring about the grand finale of the Founders' Festival celebrations. But first, if Ian wanted his plan to be executed perfectly, he'd need to borrow this whole Saturday so they could prepare, cancelling the contest that was supposed to be tonight, and rescheduling the finale of the Founders' Week for Sunday instead. But for that, of course, they would need permission.

" _Jonah, talk to your mother. We need her approval if we want this party to go on." Ian then looked at him knowingly. "And gather the Janus. I trust you'd execute my plans excellently…"_

The lights and sounds are just as important as well. Electricity is of utmost significance. It sets the mood and colours the atmosphere, making everyone _feel_ like it was the Founders' Festival indeed. How ironic that someone _logical_ would be the one who is tasked to set the 'feel'…

" _Sinead, gather the Ekaterinas. Set your electrical plans into motion; the equipment needs to be settled. Quickly."_

There were arrangements to be made, deals to be settled, and particulars to be finalised. There were letters to be signed, approved for distribution, and then circulated around the students. Each letter was a letter of permission, given to each student to show to their parents, asking them if they could allow their child to spend the entirety of Sunday out of the house.

" _Hamilton. Form a small party of Tomas students. I'm putting you in charge of the circulation of the letters."_

The food needs to be of the highest quality, and of course Ian trusted Nellie and her group of future gourmet chefs to handle that already. It was necessary, though, that someone assisted them with the transfer of the food, the packaging, and settle all the booths needed that would be brought with them in the party perimeters.

" _Dan, lead the Madrigals. Assist Nellie with the food preparations."_

Ian had then turned to his little sister. There was a wink in his eyes when he said this:

" _Natalie, and all Lucians. I'll leave to you the ship arrangements."_

Now then. He'd have to leave someone in charge of overlooking all the matters while he was gone…and then his eyes had settled on her.

" _Cara, and the Council. I leave to you the leadership. I want you to overlook everything while I'm gone. Get them to work."_

And then everyone nodded their agreements, and they started to scatter about the campus to relay their tasks to their appointed subordinates. Which leaves only the two of them alone.

"Um…" Amy started, though she was not quite sure how to begin with the question on her tongue. "Aren't you—well…going to…ah…task me with somethi—"

"You and I, love," he interrupted, turning to face her with that foreboding smirk, "will be spending the day alone."

Pause.

Then the outrage went ballistic, making even Ian flinch.

" _What?!"_

"Now, now," he said in mock hurt. "I'm not _that_ terrible, am I?"

"B-B-But _why_ do I have to be with _you?_ "

"Darling, because we are the only ones who can handle the cotton candy and the gelato preparations." He had been rehearsing that response inside his head for hours now. This was what he'd been waiting for—a day with Miss Lovely Rank Two. Oh, making her fluster like that—this was too much fun. He then offered her a hand, smirking like evil, personified. "Now. Shall we?"

Amy took a look at the hand. Then she grudgingly agreed. After all…she still had a promise to fulfil.

Determination filled her face when she thought of that. Ah, yes. That promise. Oh, she'd show him. She'd show him how wrong he was, and so she's going to make sure he had _so_ much fun in this year's Founders' Festival that would even make him forget his own name.

And then he'd eat his own words.

She squeezed his hand, that grudging look on her face wiped away by determination.

"Game."

.—..


	8. The Founders' Festival, Part II

The day was bright and jolly. But inside, the office of the executive was as quiet as a tomb. A framed photo stood in front of her on the desk, though the photo itself was enshrouded by a veiling gloom. Shadows stretched as far as they could go, ravenously competing for more light to turn into black. A state-of-the-art statue of Athena stood by the window just beside a lone, potted plant. Dark, cubistic paintings of Picasso were hung on the wall, like the sense of unease that had fallen over the already silent atmosphere that had been gnawing at her ever since.

The clock ticked on. Paperwork piled over her desk like a looming sea, her pen moving steadily to sign the documents as mechanically as a robot. Her mind was miles and miles away as she did everything that was required of her.

And then her pen stopped moving.

"Yes? Please, do come in."

Perhaps her voice sounded a little too eager for a professional. Cora Wizard wanted to scold herself for letting such a mistake slip past, but she had no time to do so when suddenly, the door creaked, sneakers stepped in, and her son stood before her in his usual outfit of baggy, messy, and utterly flashy fashion typical of a millennial teenager. She stared at him, eyes taking in the sight of her little boy.

Her little boy, now all grown up.

And then she noticed that there was a stink that suddenly polluted the pristine aroma of her office. She looked behind Jonah. Someone was with him. A Tomas?

"Mom?" Jonah's voice brought her mind back. "But how did y'know I was gonna—"

Cora cleared her throat and went back to reading the documents on her desk as if she didn't care about everything around her. "Does this concern the Founders' Festival?"

Another look of confusion flashed through Jonah's face. "But _how_ did you _know_ this was about the Founders'—"

Cora let a hand flatten down the papers in front of her to stop him. At that, she realized once again that she had made another mistake. Inwardly, she now scolded herself. At this rate, Jonah will finally figure out that she'd been monitoring everything that has happened on his daily life by sending student spies as hidden bodyguards who reported to her everything that happens to him by the end of the day.

She repeated her question. Firmly. "Does this concern the Founders' Festival?"

Jonah, a little frightened now, cleared his throat. "Well…yeah? Um, you see, Mom, I mean, Madame Executive, sir, uhh…I mean Madame… I was just…you know…thinking…about…some things…"

Blast it, what was _wrong_ with his tongue? With that in mind, Jonah clenched his fists, then let the words spill out of his mouth in a rush. "I-just-wanna-ask-for-your-permission-to—"

Cora put a hand in front of her to stop him from rambling. Her eyes were closed, as if contemplating her decisions. After a moment of more thinking, she opened her eyes, and let her hand calmly rest on the surface of her desk.

Then she nodded. Just once.

The realization came slowly. But eventually, it came to light. Jonah realized that her mother must have known about all of Ian's plans—how, he didn't know, but _somehow_ she knew, and she was actually giving him the full permission, as if all this time she'd merely been waiting for him to come and ask for it. And once it hit him, Jonah's face brightened like the sun, and he lunged forward, hugging his mother tightly. "Oh, thanks, man! Thanks! Boy, the peeps're gonna be so happy!"

Cora sat there, frozen in the arms of his son, not exactly knowing how to respond to that. And just when she was about to actually return the hug…

Jonah stood and let go, then gleefully pumped his fist in the air at the Tomas boy from across the room, who seemed just as happy about the news as he. Cora watched as Jonah walked over to him, slapped shoulders and bumped fists, the Tomas draping his arm over Jonah's neck like an old friend.

"Told ya you could do it, bro!" Then the Tomas turned to look at the still staring Chief Executive, who seemed befuddled that such rowdy attitude dared fill the professional air of the room. But the Tomas didn't care much about that. He gave her a happy salute, its absolute juvenile informality bewildering her for a bit more. "Thanks for everything, Madame Executive! Now we can really go blasting like a rocket!"

Then, they started to turn and obtain their leave. Cora opened her mouth to stop them somehow, tell them to wait, but no words came out, and her son was already in another world, chatting happily with his newfound friend. She hesitated for a couple of moments more, and just when they were closing the door—

"Holt?"

Jonah and Hamilton stopped walking and turned around to look at her. Ham cocked his head curiously to the side, a polite smile shining on his face. "Yes, ma'am?"

Cora was speechless for a few seconds more. She observed the hand draped over Jonah's shoulder. She'd often seen that gesture among boys who were close friends. And, already, Jonah had made a friend. _Finally_. Inside, she felt… _successful_. She knew that Jonah had hated her for restoring the Elite Seven and putting him in that class, but Cora, despite her iron character, was still a mother. She thought Jonah would never be able to make true friends in a normal classroom where everything was lax and dandy. He would never be challenged in such an atmosphere, and he'd never be safe, with all the fakes that may come to him and use him and possibly even break him.

The Elite Seven, however, was a group burning of rivalry, each member colder to the other than the last, because everything was a competition. The Elite Seven were tied in a tighter chain. Only a true friend would come to Jonah despite all that. Only a true friend would exist despite everything else.

And she was glad that Jonah finally had one.

Cora looked at Hamilton Holt's probing eyes, eyes that were waiting for her to say something. Cora cleared her throat, reassumed her robotic face, returned to her papers, and dismissively waved a slender hand at him.

"Use a deodorant."

* * *

Ah. WikiHow. That wondrous site that satisfies every viewer who is eternally hungry for that oh-so-gratifying kernel of knowledge about the legends of life. He made sure to send the link to his online friend Naidraug.

How to Be A Ninja Mastermind

by awesomsauzzzemasterprankologist39

written 2 days ago

_Eh, just a set of rules on how to be me. I wrote this because I was bored because my sister's being boring (gaaah, she's reading a romance novel. A ROMANCE NOVEL! Yuck) and there was no one else in the house that I could prank. A Ninja Mastermind is not a Ninja Mastermind if he doesn't possess the legendary skills bleeding of legendary awesomeness. If you follow these rules, you will be like me. Like a boss._

  1. _Be stealthy. This is the number one most important rule of all time._



Dan Cahill will go through anything, _anything_ , just to execute a perfect prank.

Even if it involved having to sneak into the girls' restroom.

And no, it may look like it, but it does _not_. He was _not_ stalking Natalie Kabra. It was simply a part of the most awesomely devilish plan in the whole entire universe. He patted the side of his pockets, and then breathed a sigh of relief.

 _Yes, roger_. _Agent 039 speaking._ The central device of this whole plan is still intact. _Over_.

Thank goodness there was no other person around; else he would have already been caught. That would never happen, of course, but the lack of witnesses around was still a pro on his side. He made sure to stick himself to the wall, and he peered inside the open doorway of the girls' restroom.

And then his eyes were bombarded with pink. (Seriously. Why do bathroom designers always make the boys' restroom blue, and the girls' restroom _pink_? He thought neon green was better.) And it smelled…nice. Unfair! Why did the boys' restroom always smelled like it was exploded with…with…with urinal _excretions_? Then he saw Natalie peering into her reflection at the mirror. And…what in the name of the ninja lords was she _doing?_ Was she _talking_ to herself?

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall," she was saying, in that all-too pompous voice in her all-too pompous fashion, sashaying her hair this way and that, her hands on her hips swaying them left and right, posing in all the glamorous poses she could ever think possible. "Who is the fairest one of all?" She paused, just for a moment. Then Natalie pointed a perfectly manicured French finger at herself.

"Of course! _Me!_ You pretty little princess! _"_

At that, Dan coughed, violently, and he pounded a fist onto his chest, and he fell down onto the ground on all fours, and then put a hand onto his mouth, trying to stop himself from vomiting whatsoever, then (xxx), all the disgusting things imaginable. This is what one gets when even _trying_ to peer into the girls' restroom.

Innocence lost.

Unfortunately, Natalie was suddenly alerted of being watched. Dan immediately got up, still trying to stop himself from coughing. Blast it. Natalie was approaching, her high-heeled stilettoes click-clacking loudly against the pristine white tiled floor, approaching faster, and faster, faster. He had to hide. _Now_. He was well aware that his plan was now destroyed, but he couldn't risk getting himself caught. He observed his surroundings. Potted plant…lockers…stairs…plant…the almighty wall….more almighty walls…urgh. He was supposed to be a master of stealth! Oh what to do…where to hide?

The evil queen was fast approaching.

Where to _hide?!_

Dan looked left and right, confused, befuddled, discombobulated, synonyms ahoy, absolutely _not_ knowing what to do. Natalie was coming. The click-clacks were getting louder. Oh no. Is this how the Ninja Mastermind meets his end? She was coming, she was coming, she was coming, and she was—

Natalie finally stepped outside the girls' restroom, a suspicious look plastered all over that pretty ( _distorted_ ) face. She looks left and right, examining her surroundings. But, still not satisfied, Natalie walked straight ahead, determined to investigate just who was trying to spy on her. She held her head high, and she ascended up the stairs, surmising that her suspect went just right over there.

Dan, hidden nicely from behind a potted plant, breathed a sigh of relief once Natalie was out of sight and those menacing click-clacking heels were not heard anymore. Phew. He had successfully saved his reputation as the stealthiest man alive.

  1. _Plan the escape routes. Must be ready. Must be alert. Must be…uh…vigilant. (Woot, thank God for synonyms.)_



But Dan knew that he had to admit defeat. Natalie had already brought her purse with her when she went upstairs, and without her purse in his hands, his prank could never be accomplished. He hung his head into the air, depressed.

And then that's when his eyes once more took an accidental look into the girls' restroom.

_Natalie had left her purse!_

Awesome! This was _perfect_. With Natalie gone and distracted with searching for 'him', Dan still had plenty of time to execute the rest of his plan. Brilliant. Just brilliant. Cackling with the glee of a mad witch, he rubbed his hands together, giddy with excitement once more. After looking cautiously left and right, he charged into the girls' restroom with his fist raised up in the air as if he was carrying the golden flag of glory.

He grabbed the purse. Pink. Ugh. Perhaps he shouldn't _grab_ it. He held the purse with _two fingers_ as carefully as possible (you never know; it might explode), while his other hand lifted the flap and unzipped the zipper. Still cautious of his surroundings, he fished out his pranking object from inside his pocket. It was a chocolate stick stolen from the school's gourmet kitchen where Nellie and her culinary team were working, which he then designed as a real lipstick. Indeed, he was resourceful. And then, he pulled out the lipstick from Natalie's purse, and replaced it with the chocolate one. Hee-hee.

Oh, the joy of annoying people.

"Oh? Oh, yes, _Ian_ , brother dear, I am going to work on it already, do not panic, please. Yes, I know, I need to be at the isle by now…I know, I know, I already _am_ in a limo, on my way to our private charter…no, I'm not lying! How _dare_ you suspect your own sister! I shall tell Mother! What? What are you…no! Don't you even _dare_! Ian!"

Oh man. Natalie was approaching. Natalie was coming back! Her voice was getting louder and louder, (and, based on the one-sided conversation, Natalie was talking to Ian on the phone), and the menacing click-clacks were back to haunt him. There was no time to escape!

He had no choice. He looked at the stalls, and saw that the stall from the farthest right had direct access to a window—a window where he could escape to. Just in case he absolutely had to. Nice. Immediately he rushed to that specific stall, stepped inside, and locked it just in time before—

"Yes, Ian, please." Natalie's shrill voice came into focus on his ears as she stepped into the restroom. "You're stressing me. This conversation is _over_." From inside the stall, Dan heard Natalie click off her phone, and then groan. Out of curiosity, Dan dropped to the ground, and then watched Natalie from under the stall door. She was shaking her head exasperatedly in front of the mirror. "Why am I cursed with a lovesick brother? Honestly, the lengths he would go through just to please that peasant girl…"

Dan was confused. Ian? Lovesick? Peasant girl? What was she…

And then he realized what she was actually talking about.

Dan got red on the ears and breathed a sharp inhale of breath. What the hell? Was she actually referring to…to…

…to _Amy?!_

Ian was STILL in love with _AMY?!_

"Oh ninja gods no…!"

But then he stopped himself when he remembered that he was not alone. He saw Natalie suddenly whir around and stare suspiciously at the stall farthest to the right. Dan quickly got up, not wanting to risk himself being found.

"Excuse me?" he heard Natalie say, her voice poisoned with suspicion. "Is something the matter?"

"Um…" Dan scrambled his mind, searching for the right thing to say. What was it that girls often talked about? Then, he got it. In a ridiculously feminine high-pitched voice, he said, "Oh, nothing, really, I just found out that I…er…you know…" He searched for the right thing to say. Then he remembered his fifth grade class when his science teacher, Miss Alberts, was talking about their lesson on the female reproductive system. "I just found that…uh, today is the start of my menstrual cycle! Ahhh! How bloody!"

Natalie was silent from the other side, obviously not knowing what to say. Right then and there, Dan knew that he'd said the wrong thing. Obviously girls did not talk loudly about their respective menstrual periods—especially to strangers. Oops. So unlike boys, indeed.

"Alright. Have…fun, I guess." With one last suspicious look over at the farthest stall, Natalie sashayed her way out of the restroom, purse in hand.

Dan grinned. Perfect.

He stepped out of the stall. Finally, fresh air. The stall had been cramped enough as it is. Unfortunate for him, that was exactly the time when a group of happily chatting cheerleading girls (who had, unbeknownst to him, just won the _Cahills Got Talent_ Championship) suddenly came and saw Dan in the corner.

A frosty pause hung over the air, the two sides overcome with shock to even speak.

For a second.

"A burglar! A burglar!"

"Lizzie, call police! NOW!"

"Who's got a phone? Who's got a _phone?!_ "

"YOU! What are you doing in the girls' restroom?!"

"Pervert!"

"Peeping Tom!"

" _Peeper!_ "

"Yeah! PEEPER!"

  1. _Know acrobatics. Because how are you going to be awesome if you can't jump from building to building like a real live DC superhero with all the awesomesauce gadgets under your belt? Or Marvel, if that's more of your thing. Whatever._



Even though they were girls, being cheerleaders, they were probably a bunch of Tomases who could beat him to pulp, so there's no point in even _trying_ to run away through the door—they're all probably athletes, anyway. If he can't be faster than them physically, then he had to be faster than them mentally. They were starting to throw shoes and pompoms at him. Next thing you know, they'll be nailing him to the cross.

And then it hit him.

_The window._

He was no acrobat, but the skill was necessary this time. As quickly as a mouse, he immediately went inside the same stall where he came from, just when the girls were rushing toward him like a stampede. He locked the door nicely, but his heart was pounding—the girls were hammering onto the door, demanding for him to get out so they could beat him. No way, Sherlocks. He valued his awesomeness.

All the while ignoring the shouts of the Tomas girls, Dan stood up on the lid of the toilet bowl, and let his fingers reach over to the window. He struggled to carry his weight with him, and then pushed himself up, until he felt his feet leaving actual ground. After a bit more of struggling with his weight, he finally made it, and he sat onto the high window. He looked down at the Tomas girls who demanded for him to get down so they could (this is a no-brainer) beat him up.

Better luck next time. He gave them a salute. "So long, fans!"

And then he leaped out of the window, right into the heart of action.

Not bad for an amateur Marvel bad boy.

  1. _Leap into action._



Thankfully, there was a bush on the ground. Also thankfully, he had escaped the girls. And thankfully, he was only twenty feet up.

Wait.

_Twenty feet up?_

Just as he realized in his horror that he had just mindlessly jumped out of a window from two floors up, there was no stopping now. He was falling head first to the ground. He let a scream escape his mouth. He was going to _die_.

No! The Ninja Mastermind was not going to end in the way! Remembering all the other lessons he had taken from his past teachers who trained him for the past years' mock missions, he positioned his hands in front of him. He let his arms go flabby, but not so much that he didn't have control over them. Then, quickly, with the ground growing larger and larger and larger—

He fell into a bush, a soft canopy of leaves softening the blow. He used his hands to push himself into an eggroll so that his head or spine was not hurt in anyway. He felt thorns prick through his skin, the dirty leaves making him start to itch, but that was better than getting hit with rocks. He looked down at himself. His shirt was crumpled, he had obtained a few scratches here and there, and he was certain that his hair wasn't such in an immaculate state either. But even though he was a mess, he had victoriously escaped from the wrath of the Tomas girls, all in the sacred name of Prankology.

He looked up. He saw the girls waving their fists at him from the window, throwing various kinds of threats and shoes and pompoms at him, shouting for him to get away.

Dan picked himself up from the floor and brushed the dirt off of him.

"And don't you ever show your face again!" shrieked the one named Lizzie.

He smirked up at them.

_Gladly._

  1. _Have a loyal sidekick. What kind of a ninja are you if you don't even have a sidekick?_



Dan took out his phone and found a lot of unanswered messages from Naidraug.

 ** **Naidraug: …and I really saw this awesome swag! In actuality…it was a silver a .22-calibre pistol! ^.^**** /15 minutes ago

 ** **Naidraug: Dan? Dan?! This isn't like you. Why aren't you replying? :(**** /13 minutes ago

 ** **Naidraug: Wait! Don't tell me you're actually going to do it? :O**** /13 minutes ago

 ** **Naidraug: NO! Stop! Do NOT go into the girls' restroom under all circumstances! Are you even LISTENING to me?! D:**** /12 minutes ago

 ** **Naidraug: DAAANNN! :(**** /10 minutes ago

Dan smirked and composed one reply.

 ** **awesomsauzzzemasterprankologist39: Hey**** /Just now

The reply was immediate.

 ** **Naidraug: Let me guess. You decided to start chatting with me again because you actually did what you were talking about. How dare you? I thought you were bluffing when you told me you'd go into the girls' room.**** /Just now

 ** **awesomsauzzzemasterprankologist39: an awesomesauce master prankster NEVER bluffs. *insert evil grin emoji***** /Just now

 ** **Naidraug: Really.**** /Just now

  1. _Say your catchphrase at the end of every mission. This is the number two most important rule of all time. What's_ my _catchphrase, you ask? Hahaa! You guess. Knowing me, I think y'all already know, my fans ;)_



Dan put his hands into his pockets, and looked up at the sky, ignoring the stares of the people around him. He grinned. While all these people were shuffling and making themselves busy over the Founders' Festival preparations, he was having the time of his life. What an adventure.

"I just really love my awesome self."

_And that, dear WikiHow readers, is how one can become a Ninja Mastermind._

_*wink*_

* * *

It was way past afternoon, and the school campus was a flurry of busy bees. It was noisy with chattering voices and thin shrilly whistles and reprimands from the ever so perfectionist Lucians. With the Founders' Festival Finale rescheduled tomorrow, everyone was motivated to work faster to get it done just before the day ends. There were Ekaterinas working their hands through their gigantic sound devices, Tomases running back and forth to distribute the letters, some more Tomases lifting cargoes and carts, Januses practicing their various intense dance numbers with the help of some stunt masters from the Tomases, Madrigals distributing free snacks to everyone who wanted to eat, some assigned Lucian leaders together with the Student Council overlooking the work.

The place was also constellated with equipment. Small cranes lifting the heavy sound systems, tractors pulling over the less heavy equipment, trucks carrying people. Workers employed under Ian came in from vans to help the students transport the things ready to be transported (i.e., carts, food booths, decorations, sound systems, tents, etc.) to the secret venue of the party. Most who can still lend a hand helped the Tomases carry the boxes over to the truck, chatting their way through even though their faces were already streaked with sweat. But that is the amazing thing about these Cahill students today. Had a miracle just happened? Because, despite the heat of the sun, the sweat, and the tiredness, the atmosphere remained bright and lively, all faces smiling or laughing as they passed the cargo towards each other until it reached the interior of the trucks. Even the workers seemed amazed by this stunning teamwork.

Gideon and Olivia would be smiling down at them if they could see them from heaven.

"Ooh! So we're having gourmet food?"

"Ian said that we're going to take a _luxury liner!_ Imagine!"

" _Seriously?!"_

"I've never been on a luxury liner before…"

"Waah! I need a new dress!"

"But how about those who _can't_ buy a dress? I've got no money…"

"Eeep! I _know_ , right! They're _sooo_ rich! I wonder what kind of party it will be?"

"Ian said the venue's a surprise! I'm getting tense. This is so exciting!"

"I can't wait for tomorrow!"

"Did you know that Lizzie and her friends just saw a pervert in the girls' room?"

"My Dad is going to buy me a dress for tomorrow's party!"

"Drinks and sandwiches, everyone! I know you're all tired! Get your snacks over here!"

"Stefan, please. Let's just do the chatting later."

"Natalie, you little twit. Where _are_ you?"

The last came from Sinead Starling. She was supposed to be meeting Natalie now. The Ekaterinas assigned under her and the Lucians with Natalie are to be the first people to see _where,_ exactly, the secret venue of the Founders' Festival party is. The Lucians are supposed to be organizing the venue, and the Ekaterinas were to finally assemble the sounds and lights that they'd already finished planning about half an hour ago. (They were pretty grandiose plans, as Ian had instructed, and Sinead was a little sceptical if it was all even possible to build in just one night. But Ian reassured her that money makes everything faster.)

To be honest, even Sinead was curious where Ian planned to get this party over with. She couldn't wait to see how grand this party really is going to be, and the tension was killing her, like everybody else. She was not excited to attend the party, per se, it was just that she didn't want to be kept in the dark about the details. There were already a million rumours about where it was going to be. The Kabra Manor in London? An island in Hawaii? Switzerland? Maybe he'd reserved a night in the Queen's palace? Or perhaps a villa in the Bahamas? No, no, that would be too far from Ireland in just one night's journey….maybe the Irish Kabra Estate? Or some other island resort, not far from the coast?

Ugh. This was why she wasn't really very fond of surprises. So many possibilities, not one clue.

But anyway. Back to the topic at hand.

Where _was_ Natalie?

Sinead stopped pacing across the floor, frustrated. Then, she picked up her cargo from the floor—a box of wires and adaptors and her sketches with all the necessary little things like screws, screwdrivers, and other hand tools in one metal toolbox. She carried her box with her, not caring at all that her arms started to feel a little numb after a few more minutes of searching for the Kabra brat. The canteen? Nope. The garden? Nope. The library? No sign of her. The MadriGreen? Empty. The workshop? No, no, no, definitely not. Then _where?_

Sinead was just thinking of giving up when, suddenly, her ears caught the familiar voice she'd often heard during the night whenever she turned on her phone's self-implanted radio.

"I know you can do it, guys! Just don't stop dancing!"

Her skin practically crawled when she turned her head, ever so slowly, and found out that it was indeed Jonah Wizard, choreographing a group of panting dancers. He came forward to a dancer in front, clapped him on the shoulder, and redid the dance steps to help him memorize them. The dancer nodded, taking in the steps, and when Jonah stopped, looking at him expectantly, the dancer tried to redo the steps—and succeeded. He received a clamour from his other dance mates and Jonah, glad that taught them right, proceeded to teach them the next steps.

As she watched him choreograph, Sinead's grip on her box tightened. Her inclination to hate him grew intense. She knew she had no reason to, but she simply _hated_ all celebrities, and there was no doubt that Jonah was the leader of them all. They were all liars, hiding their wickedness from behind the cameras, smilingly endlessly, creating quotes that _seem_ inspiring even though they actually weren't. She hated fakes. She hated cheaters, and traitors, and fakes, and everything in between. She hated…

Jonah caught Sinead glaring at him, but he didn't quite interpret her intense green gaze as a glare. Instead, he raised an arm, flashed her his flashy smile, and waved at her. Sinead blinked, watching him, looking behind her to see who on Earth he was waving at. It took her a awhile to realize that _she_ was actually the one he was waving at, and, embarrassed, the Starling stiffly gave him one nod of acknowledgment. Red in the ears and wanting to escape the attention she'd unwantedly garnered from the other dancers, Sinead tightly held her box of equipment, turned her head away, and practically scurried out of the place. But unfortunately, in her careless haste, her feet tripped over a tangle of wires and she lost her hold onto the equipment. She would've fallen face flat on the ground if not for—

"Whoa. A lady shouldn't be carrying these."

Sinead caught herself just in time before she hit the ground. Panting and putting her hands onto her knees, she looked up at the tall stature of Hamilton, that dimwit Tomas, who now held her box of equipment and was looking down at her in a concerned manner.

"Hey…" He was offering her a hand. "You okay?"

"I'm _fine_." She dismissively waved his hand away from touching her in any way. "Now give that back to me—"

Ham made sure to lift the box up high out of her reach, which just frustrated her even more. "Uh-uh-uh, no can do, Mistress Genius. Where do I take this?"

She stomped a foot on the ground. "I said, give that _back_. I can lift it just fine—"

Ham had looked into the contents of the box and then came to a conclusion. "Oh, so this is needed in the white van Natalie just sent for?"

"Are you even _listening_ to me?"

"Nope."

"Give that back!"

He grinned. A disgusting sight, if you ask Sinead. Hamilton was getting more and more dreadfully annoying by the second.

"Not if you chase me first."

"Why, you _little_ …Hamilton _Dolt!"_ Sinead started to run after the laughing Tomas, who was quickly widening the distance between them. "Come back here or you'll—ugh."

Hamilton, making fun of her slowpokery disgrace, was running away from her with the box in one hand, mockingly looking back at her with playful hand gestures, like 'L' for Loser. Sinead narrowed her eyes, and then stopped running. She observed carefully where he was heading to, presumably the white van from outside the gates of the school, and then in her head she started drawing a Cartesian plane, calculating for a faster route which would make her get to the finish line first, numbers adding, gears turning, lines drawing, searching for the value of 2x plus three equals nine…

Sinead smirked, then started to run, following the map on her mind. For a moment, Ham looked confused as to why Sinead wasn't chasing after him anymore and was instead taking a different route. But Sinead continued to run. She may not be an athlete, but brains win over brawn any day.

Hamilton had no idea who he'd just challenged in a race.

From the distance, Jonah was wondering what just happened between Hamilton and Sinead. His eyes peered, watching Sinead wear a cunning smile as she ran the opposite of where a confused Hamilton was running to. He was just about to step forward and crane his head to get a better look when suddenly—

"Oh! Uh, sorry."

He looked down and saw Cara Pierce.

Then he smiled.

"It's alright."

After that short encounter, the two went back to their business, Jonah to his choreographing job and Cara to commanding everyone who got into her line of sight.

Meanwhile, Amy and Ian had just finished with their cotton candy and gelato business. Walking across the concrete pavement, the two took in the sight of everyone else, the afternoon still as busy as ever.

"Do you think everything really will be completely ready for tomorrow?" There was a tinge of worry in Amy's voice. At the look of things, everything was still half done, and it was not possible that all preparations will be finished in the remaining hours of the Saturday. Well, how can you expect a party to be finished under such a short notice?

Ian, however, did not seem to share her concerns. As calm as ever, he closed his eyes and put a hand on his chest in a gentlemanly manner. "As I've repeatedly said, money speeds everything up." He opened his eyes and let his ambers look at Amy's green ones. "And as you know, the Kabras have a lot to spare."

Amy reddened at such a gaze and turned away. "I—g-guess so…but you don't have to make everything so grand, you know. We can just settle for a simple, modest—"

Ian chuckled, an evil sound cutting her off. "Modesty does not fit my name, love."

Amy clenched her fists, gritted her teeth, and gave him an annoyed glare. "I thought you didn't know that."

His voice carried the same mocking air as he smirked down at her. "You do flatter me."

Amy was just about to compose a response to that when, suddenly, there was a deafening sound, coming from high up in the sky, and the ground itself seemed to shake as the air rose and lifted leaves, papers, dust, and the girls' skirts, who frantically tried to push them back them with their hands and a scream.

"What's going on?" shouted a panicked girl.

"Where is that coming from?!" yelled another boy.

The questions piled, but everything else was drowned by the ear-splitting sound, and Amy herself had to put a hand over an ear, and the other arm over her eyes to keep them from getting flicked by the torrential dust. She struggled to crack open an eye, and when she did, the first sight she saw was that of her awed brother, who was staring up at the sky. The Madrigal pointed an accusing finger at him.

"Dan! What did you do again? Did you wage war on, what, _Russia_ this time?"

Dan, outrageous, pointed a finger at himself, seriously offended for getting blamed for such a thing. He genuinely didn't remember anything about playing a prank on the Russian army to make them angry enough that they would ever go so far as to send something like battle copters. Shaking his head fervently, he paired the act with a perfectly-executed, oh-so-innocent look of a nice, little baby brother. "Why do you always blame _me_ for everything?"

(And then _that_ was the exact moment when Nellie found out that the chocolate stick she'd just eaten tasted lipstick, and Natalie lips suddenly tasted like chocolate.

Both of them screamed and woke the dead.

" _DANIEEELL!"_ )

Ian walked in front of Amy, calm despite the situation. He gestured behind him, and that was when Amy saw the helicopter slowly descending onto the ground, the torrents of wind it created and the whirring propellers starting to calm down, the leaves and dust and papers and skirts settling down as the machine silenced to a stop. Once it did, a crowd of amazed onlookers slowly gathered around them, curious of what was suddenly happening.

Which was exactly what Amy demanded. "What's happening?"

"Worry not." Ian flicked off an imaginary dust from his immaculate suit. "Daniel has no business whatsoever with the helicopter I just sent for." Then he offered her a hand. "Come. Join me."

Narrowing her eyes suspiciously at him, Amy hesitantly gave him her hand and let him lead the way towards the helicopter. The crowd couldn't help but be amazed at the site of the couple, making Amy blush like crazy. She attempted to pull back her hand, but Ian somehow predicted she would do that and made sure that he held her firmly and steadily.

"Where are we going?" she hissed, as Ian started to step into the said helicopter. "Let go of me, will you!"

That only made him hold her tighter. "Are you coming or not?"

Amy was still reluctant. Nevertheless, her curiosity got the best of her, and she stepped into the helicopter without another second thought. But once she thought she felt comfortable sitting there beside Ian, that nothing could ever go wrong—besides, what could Ian do to her in a helicopter?—Ian suddenly stood up. Amy thought for a moment that he was simply going to give some instructions to the pilot at the gears, but when Ian started to step out, and then hold his feet firmly on the ground from outside, Amy's suspicions began to rise once again. She was just about to ask where he was going, when, suddenly, a command was issued with the one word that escaped his suddenly smirking lips.

"Bickerduff."

Fear suddenly gripped at Amy's heart, that single, cold-blooded word piercing her like a blade of ice through her skin, but she had no time to react to her surroundings when everything suddenly moved so fast she didn't even catch it—because the doors of the helicopter suddenly, automatically closed themselves shut just before she could run out of that prison the soonest she could. She was fast, but not fast enough—because the next thing she knew, her fists only met the glass of the helicopter door. Frustrated, she pounded at it once more with all her strength, glaring at Ian from the outside. Amy then looked at the person on the gears. She realized that it was Bickerduff, Ian's well-known butler.

"Let me out of here!" she demanded him. No answer. Instead, it was Ian's voice she heard next.

"Take Miss Cahill to Natalie's tailor to have her measurements taken." Amy realized that there must be a speaker inside the copter, because she could see Ian from outside talking to a transmitter. "If she resists whatsoever, bind her. Tie her to a chair if you must. You have my full permission. What is important is that it will all be finished as soon as possible. Understood?"

"Of course, young master."

"Wha…" At those words, Amy was shocked. How dare he…how dare they… _no!_ She mustn't let him humiliate her like this! She pounded frantically on the glass, wanting to escape the hell she'd just mindlessly stepped into. _That's what you get for being such a stupid, innocent little girl who trusts everyone around her without a second thought!_ Stupid, stupid, stupid!

" _Ian!_ LET ME _OUT OF HERE!_ This instant! Where—what is the meaning of—of—just let me _OUT OF HERE!_ "

She hated herself. She hated herself for being naïve, and trusting, and gullible, and easy to fool, and innocent, and—and—

Dan, from outside, was frozen in shock, but once his senses finally descended upon him and he realized what was actually happening to his sister, he ran towards Ian Cobra, threateningly punching a tightly white cracking fist on an angry palm. Readying himself to clobber the Cobra from behind, Dan lunged, saying, "Why, you slimy—!"

"Restrain him."

And then suddenly, there was Hamilton, who came up from behind Dan and stopped him from committing an act of murder that would land himself in jail. But Dan didn't care much about _that_ —he was blinded with rage. Because how dare this slimy little animal imprison his sister like she was trash? This is human trafficking! Exploitation of boring sisters! Ian Cobra must be charged with death penalty! And guillotined— _whatever that means!_

And so Dan struggled against Hamilton, yelling, "No! _NO!_ Let—go—you _dolty_ —"

"But I thought you were going to spend the rest of the day with me!"

Ian arched an eyebrow as Amy's words reached his ears from the transmitter in his hand. When realization dawned, he chuckled. "Do you _actually_ want to, Miss Lovely Rank Two?"

He watched in fascination as Amy's green eyes widened into platters, her cheeks flushing red. "N-N-No! Not l-l- _like_ that—"

"And so it is settled." Ian put his palm on the glass of the helicopter, right over the Amy's fist still on said glass. "Whenever you think of this day, please think of this as a gift from your dearest friend."

Horror. That was the only expression she could practically muster at the moment. "Dearest _friend?_ A _gift?!_ "

With one final chuckle, Ian spoke into his transmitter. "Bickerduff." He smirked at Amy. "Fly the lovely princess away into her fairy-tale."

Amy was horrified. "Lovely _wh—_ "

"Yes, master."

It all happened quickly. The propellers whirred, the earth beneath shook, Amy frantically pounded on the glass, Dan struggled against Ham, the copter lifted, dust and wind started a torrent, the crowd stared up in awe, and Amy was flown kilometres up in the sky, her pleading yells falling upon deaf ears as she was transported cross-country against her very will.

Yep. Human trafficking.

When all is said and done, Ian smiled at himself for a job well done. But, when he turned around, he found himself facing a crowd of silently staring people who can't believe he just did that to an innocent girl.

"What?"

"YOU!" It was Dan, who was still struggling frantically with Hamilton. The Tomas was more annoyed than challenged at the little boy's futile efforts. But still he thought that restraining Dan would still be worth it, lest he killed Ian in cold blood on the spot.

"You! Kidnapper! Hijacker! Criminal! EVIL VILLAIN!"

" _Dude!_ " Hamilton was _seriously_ getting tired. "We talked about this already, didn't we?"

"But I can't believe he'd actually do it!"

"It's not as if he'd hurt her, geez!"

"Well, a snake's venom doesn't reveal itself right after a bite, does it?"

It took Hamilton several moments to process the metaphor. In vain. "Aurgh. There's just no point in _struggling_ , man!"

"Exactly! _Lemme at him, lemme at him!_ Snakes have to be KILLED!" He looked at Ian, his green gaze a laser bolt that might have set him to fire if the laws of physics allowed him so. "You bad, mean, sickening, nasty _son of a_ — _!_ "

Hamilton, alerted, stopped him just in time. "Whoa!"

"—son of a _cobra!_ "

Ian was not a bit offended by any of the words. A Lucian leader, after all, had to have an impenetrable immunity against those kinds of things. He clapped his hands, and addressed the crowd, cracking the ice of shock that had frozen them all in time.

"Get to work, everyone. We still have much to do."

* * *

Once upon a romantic time, a young little girl was kidnapped by an evil lord of darkness, forced on a helicopter to fly cross-country kilometres away from Ireland to a place as alien as Pluto.

Amy was definitely _not_ living a fairy-tale.

She was to be in London, escorted to the Kabra Mansion's tailoring room. Ian sent her to their manor in London instead of the Irish Kabra Estate, because he knew that his mother wouldn't be there.

A fatal miscalculation.

Isabel Kabra had just arrived in London, and once she stepped into the manor, she sensed that the servants were a little more busy than necessary without the masters of the house present—especially since she didn't alert anyone that she was actually coming here. Her butler, a man named Sebastian, rushed to her aide.

"Madame Isabel, I deeply apologize! I was not alerted that you would be arriving—"

She waved the apology away, then handed him her red-framed sunglasses with delicately manicured fingers. "Do we have a visitor today?"

"Yes, Madame Isabel." The butler took her sunglasses with white-gloved hands. "Upon the command of the young Master Ian, our tailor, Miss Nancy Hopkins, is to come and take the measurements of an acquaintance…a Miss Amelia Cahill. That is why the servants are busy." Then, Sebastian realized he'd just said something wrong. "But of course, the servants are also busy because of you, Madame Isa—"

Her eyes were wide. "Did you say Amy Cahill?"

"Wh…ah, yes, yes, of course, my lady." For a moment, Sebastian was confused of the suddenness of the demand, but nevertheless was quickly able to recover. "It is indeed a Miss Amelia Cahill, yes." The butler's British accent thickened with apprehension as he took in the unusual reaction of his mistress. "Does the Madame find this news unpleasant? Shall I cancel her appointment with our tailor?"

Isabel was silent for a few more seconds, her sharply-angled eyes seemingly enclosed in somewhere else distant. And then, Sebastian noticed something terrifying.

The feared Madame Isabel Kabra _smirked_ , the seeds of a plan blossoming like thorns inside the premises of her Lucian brain.

"Oh, no, no," she said, her voice silken evil. "We shall do no such thing to an honoured guest. Make sure to give her the best Kabra hospitality."

Sebastian gulped. "Y-Yes, Madame. Of course." He bowed, and then scurried away.

The fire in her amber eyes brought the concept of a fairy-tale's happy ending up into flames.

* * *

The school campus was blessed by the sun's late afternoon shower of cool orange rays as the tired yet enthusiastic students said their goodbyes, one by one, all chattering happily about a job excellently done. Ian Kabra, Elite Seven first honours, and Cara Pierce, Student Council President, managers of the Founders' Festival Finale, both had complimented everyone for their dedicated hard work before giving them leave to finally go home and retire to prepare themselves for the next day's party.

As the students proceeded to go home or to their respective dormitories, Ian was walking the opposite way. He brought with him his expensive and custom-designed laptop with him. The others gave him a salute to acknowledge his elite presence among the regulars, which he couldn't help but return with a smile.

_A smile?_

How unlike him, indeed.

"Ian!"

Ian didn't stop walking, and simply let the blond American Ekaterina with the green eyes chase after him without his response. From her fretful hair, her tired voice roughened by issuing commands, and her wrinkled clothes, Cara seemed like she had to be absolutely depleted of all energy, and yet she still seemed to be full of it. She was then able to reach him and eventually walked side by side with him. He didn't yet look at her, but he was the first to speak.

"Your business?"

"Oh?" For a moment, Cara seemed to forget what she actually came for in the first place. Then she realized she was staring. Blushing tremendously, Cara turned away and used the act of having to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear to hide herself from his amused gaze. "I just thought that it was stupid of you."

That remark finally made Ian stop and stare at her. An insult was just directed at him. Most unexpected. All he could remember was that this day was an absolute success, with him being the mastermind behind it all. What kind of fool would ever label him as 'stupid'? A delusional one is the only possibility.

" _Excuse_ me?"

Cara coughed, an effort to cover up the flutters she felt in her stomach. "The incident with Amy and the helicopter this morning, you twit. What did you do to her?"

Ian paused. And then smiled when he comprehended her statement. "Ah. It is nothing for you to worry about, Miss President. It was merely a gift I thought appropriate for a lady as fine and lovely as her." Ian could almost imagine Amy pounding on the glass window with the desperateness of a bull and the strength of a rhinoceros. The thought made him smile.

A fine and lovely lady indeed.

Cara met him with a poker face. "A gift. _Seriously_."

"Someone who views the situation from out of the box would never understand the interior." He gave her a cryptic smile. "Off you should go then, now, Miss President. Tomorrow would be quite the big day."

Cara responded with an annoyed growl, but fortunately she was quick to overcome her short-lived annoyance. And then she took note that Ian didn't seem intent on going home already, like he was prodding her to. "And where are _you_ going?"

"The MadriGreen Conservatory."

And that is precisely where he was right now. Somehow, he felt more comfortable working in here than he ever did in the library or in his study back in the mansion. It had, after all, been his home for the last few years now. The hours had passed, the night had eventually finished painting the sky black, and a cold air descended upon the greenhouse to cloak Ian while he typed on his laptop, the electronic blue light giving shine to his uncharacteristically enthusiastic amber eyes. The preparations for the party were now all finished, and, absolutely, every person who had helped him achieve his plan deserved his gratitude. Their unprecedented help was not quite part of his plan in the first place, but to be honest, it was a …nice experience to have everyone by his side, willing to become the pawns of his little game. It was his job to finalise everything so that all would go smoothly from here on out. He wanted tomorrow to be _perfect_ —something only a perfectionist as crucial as him would ever allow.

And then with the final click of the last key, Ian closed his eyes with a smile on his face, slightly stained by a smirk. Now, all was finished. All he would have to do now was return to the manor and sleep to wait for the next day. Everything was going along the plan _perfectly_ , and Miss Lovely Rank Two would absolutely have no idea what hit her.

" _Do you want to work on this project...together?"_

Tomorrow night, he was going to pay Amy's kindness in his own little, _original_ way—which, of course, obviously involved (as Dan coined it) human trafficking.

What? He was a Kabra.

* * *

The next day came with a flourish. Everyone else was ready for the voyage. That morning, the students who were allowed by their parents to attend to the Founders' Festival Finale met thirty limousines parked on the school's green campus, ready to take them away into the luxury of a Sunday night. The girls were so happily excited when it was announced that Natalie had especially ordered each of them a gown which could be accessed once they were already on the luxury liner; but some boys, most especially Dan, were particularly annoyed at the fact that that they were _required_ to wear a tuxedo whether they liked it or not.

"This," groaned an exasperated Natalie, "is the call of social order, _gentlemen_." Ian would've chuckled at the dripping sarcasm Natalie poured onto that one single word—that was his sister, alright. Her eyes ominously loomed over the shrinking form of the suddenly-scared so-called 'gentlemen', her hand suddenly toying with something inside her purse. A poisoned dart. "Am I understood?"

Even Dan had to gulp when those words came seething out of her mouth.

The limousines sped off one hour later to send the excited students to a port on the edge of Ireland. The students inside the luxurious cars were in awe as they stared out the window to bask in the sight of the luxury liner where they were going to conduct their grand, classical party, the ship floating majestically over the waters where the outsiders, fishermen, and passer-by's simply just had to gasp in all its glory. The luxury liner was given the name _Universal Force_ , a well-known anagram of Lucians Forever, typical of the masterminds who arranged the ship preparations in the first place.

Then, once the awed students stepped out of their limos, butlers and maids came to greet them to escort them into the luxury liner. It was gigantic—painted a royal red, it shone like a freshly picked apple floating gracefully over the sparkling blue waters. The blushing girls were flattered by the elegant young butlers, and the boys felt like kings being served by the beautiful maids. It was nothing less than what they had expected from the rich family of the Kabras.

They all had to fall in line before they had to step into the majesty of Universal Force, what with Natalie's perfectionist demands from the speakers banging their ears.

"ALRIGHT! Social order. _We get it_. Idiot." Dan was rolling his eyes at Natalie's insistently annoying chatters over the microphone, yelling at all of the _gentlemen_ for 'being such dirty pigs about to be brought to slaughter'. There was simply no end to her insults.

And then, once everybody was on the ship, they started to sail. The young men gave their salutes and ladies threw their handkerchiefs in the air as the people who remained on ground waved at them and wished them a good journey—they were the witnessing fishermen, passer-byes, and the students who hadn't been allowed by their parents to come, but wished to send their friends a kiss. As soon as the ship moved forward with a honk, the thrill of the morning was soon replaced by an excited tension—they started to whisper among themselves, speculating, wondering, guessing where this 'surprise venue' Ian had been talking about. It had had them curious all night and kept them awake, and now that the day had finally come, they couldn't _wait_ to see what the surprise was actually all about.

For now, though…

_Bon voyage!_


	9. The Founders' Festival, Part III

That morning, all the attending Cahills of Cahill University woke up rested, revived, energized, and positively excited for the luxury of their lifetimes.

That is, with one exception.

Natalie Kabra was just as she was every day, calmly having her morning tea in silent solitude with her mother in the Irish Kabra Estate. The butler Bickerduff had served them a light petit déjeuner of scones and orange almond cakes, accompanied by Fortnum and Mason's Earl Grey tea served with the flourish of expensive Royal Doulton dishes. Their lavish morning routine went on as usual, the only difference being Ian's absence. He had to leave early to attend to the last minute preparations of the party.

"Hmmm," began Isabel, light tones of disfavour underlining her thoughtful humming. "This…party he's been fussing over with. I thought it concerns the Founders' Festival." She looked at Natalie with a curious question in her eyes. "Does it?"

"Oh, yes it does, Mum," replied Natalie immediately, absolutely failing to recognize that unmistakable tone of disfavour. "And I must say, I just wish it would all be over soon. I'm getting tired of all his fussing around, honestly." Her teacup then landed softly on her saucer with a _clink_. "Why do you ask, dear Mother?"

"Nothing, darling, really," said Isabel, but the trepidation in her eyes betrayed her very words. "I've just heard that he's given some sort of…special attention to someone prior to that. This Amy Cahill, the second honours student." At the mention of her name, the look in her amber eyes sharpened—like a sword angled correctly against the moonlight to glint and signal bloody murder. "His rival. Isn't she?"

Natalie pretended not to hear that goading tone in her mother's voice. She merely picked up a scone and bit on it, chewing as if she had not a care in the world.

"Well?" prodded Isabel, apparently expecting her daughter to throw in some sort of snide comment onto the discussion regarding that. "Is this true?"

"Well…yes," surrendered Natalie, finding no point in lying to a mother who was herself a lying connoisseur. "But rest assured, Mother," she hastened to say. "My brother…Ian is…" Natalie paused, and for a moment she found herself unable to say the actual fact. The _obvious_ fact. She gulped. _Just say it._

"Ian is…" Inhale. Exhale. _Calm down_. "He is nowhere near letting that peasant take over his place as Elite Seven's rank first."

At that, Isabel didn't seem convinced. Fortunately though, the answer seemed enough to satisfy her—and to Natalie's utter relief. For a second there, she thought that her mother was going to…

Compare them. Again.

"Very well. As you say so. But on to the important matters."

With a wave of her fingers, she motioned for the butler to come to Natalie. Bickerduff's steps were lithe and steady, and he approached his young mistress with a silver tray on both of his gloved hands. On the tray were a letter and a letter opener. The first thing that caught Natalie's eye was the Cahill seal on the envelope itself, a black clay engraved with the historical _C_.

And this shocked her to the point that she'd almost dropped her scone.

"This _early?_ "

"Why, yes, of course," said Isabel, calmly as ever. She brought her cup of tea up over her head, a gesture enough for the butler to come scuttling to pour her another round of Earl Grey. Then she turned her eyes to Natalie, her lips with a smile. "The sooner the better. Isn't that what all people believe in?"

Natalie decided that this was something she was going to dread. Guardedly, though, she picked up the letter from the silver tray with slender fingers, and cut the seal slowly with the letter opener. Once the paper tumbled down in front of her, unfolding itself into three strips, she proceeded to read the entirety—and was then mind-blown from the contents.

" _What?_ But Mother!" She dramatically pounded her hands onto the tabletop and pushed herself up from her chair so she was hovering over Isabel. At that very moment, Natalie was a figure of absolute indignation, a complete contrast to Isabel's calm and apathetic temperament with while she sipped her tea.

"You—you have control over this, don't you?" Natalie said, desperation in her tone. "Change it! I detest this pairing! I do not like this at all! Tell Principal Grace that I am simply not, _never_ doing this mock mission, with that…that…"

The miserable girl found her situation to be so abhorrent that she couldn't even find the words.

"Mind you, dear," said Isabel, and she crossed her legs in that conceited manner of hers with mock-hurt in her eyes. "I thought you knew your mother's job. Principal Grace has absolutely nothing to do with this." She laid down her saucer, picked up a fork, and stabbed into her strawberry cake. "I was the one who arranged it."

What escaped Natalie's lips was a trembling gasp of shock. "N _…no…_ "

"And I completely expect you to abide by my conditions, dear," said Isabel, putting the fork into her mouth and chewing with the small bit of cake for a bit. "And what have you to worry about? This is just a one-on-one challenge with your consistent rival. Nothing more, nothing personal, correct? I've merely observed that your grades are too often either tied or very close, almost always with merely a point zero one interval. Most unsatisfying. That's why I thought that it would be absolutely fun to watch who between you two would really come out on top."

Isabel leaned forward into the conversation, wove her fingers together over the table, and rested her chin onto the steeple with a mother's soothing smile on her face.

"In conclusion," said she, her words coated thickly with sickly sweet honey, "this year's very first mock mission would test you…"

Natalie simply could not contain her horror.

"…and Daniel Cahill."

  1. The Founders' Festival, III



The two young gentlemen on the phone were frozen into shock.

One of them barely managed to get over it, and then was hardly able to croak the words out of his shaken lips.

"Wh… _whoa_ …wait," said Ted Starling, still rattled of the news his sister had just given him. "Is that _you_ , Sinead?"

The female Starling fondly rolled her green eyes at her little brother's good-natured overreaction. "What, can't I have a little bit of fun on a festival? I don't always have to be grumpy to be Sinead Starling for you, you know."

"That's it," finalized Ned Starling in the mock-serious tone of a doctor who had reached the conclusion of his diagnosis. "Who are you and where did you take our sister?"

Sinead could only laugh. It had been some time since she'd had a good talk with her brothers, and, ever since she had been separated from them, it had been well-known to the triplets how sour and bitter her moods could always become during their calls. Her brothers had just called her from Tel Aviv, expecting their sister to respond to them with her usual moody tone; so it had definitely thrown them off when she announced that she was calling them from a luxury liner that was going to take her and her schoolmates into a night of celebration of the Founders' Festival.

"I'm right here, you idiots," she jested, and quite cheerfully at that. Perhaps they had the right of it, though, because it was rare for them to see her in such a cheerful mood for the past weeks they've been talking on the phone. Then her tone softened. "Hey. I miss you two."

"Miss you, too," said the twins with a longing sigh.

And then the Starling triplets laughed when they realized the rhyme.

"Well, we just checked in because we figured you're sulking in your room right now while the whole school's celebrating," said Ned. "The usual. But since it looks like you're having fun anyway—"

"—we're just going to sign off and rest assured, so auf wiedersehen to you," finished Ted, _auf widersehen_ being the goodbye for German.

"Aranoyas," said Ned, the said word being the backward spelling of the farewell remark in Japanese.

"Nonsense," bid Sinead, using the genetic term for a mutation that causes a peptide chain to end—but, in this case, their warm conversation. With that final amiable note, she tapped her phone, ending the call. She brought the screen before her and stared at it for a while, her green gaze resting on the names of her brothers for a tender moment.

Ned and Ted.

For some reason, that brought a smile to her face. Ned and Ted and Sinead. That suddenly brought upon a memory. When the three of them had signed up for an elementary school science fair, the announcer was thoroughly baffled to see that it was _triplets_ who occupied the Champion, 1st Runner Up, and 2nd Runner Up slot. Ned and Ted had been particularly grumpy, stubbornly refusing to admit that they lost before her in the science fair when it was already blatantly obvious that _she_ was the victor.

"And what sort of _nonsense_ are you grinning about now?" interrupted a sharp voice. Accented, British. Sinead immediately knew who it was, so when she turned around, she spoke her name with a smile.

"Oh, Natalie," she said. "Nothing like a non-Ekaterina like you would ever understand."

The young Kabra's arched eyebrow twitched ever so noticeably at that. "Pardon me?"

"Never mind." Sinead half-turned from Natalie so that half her vision consumed the blue sea, and half the petite British girl. The Starling rested an arm over the railing, letting the wind splash onto her whole body making her hair billow from behind. "So, what did you come here for, anyway?" The Ekaterina highly doubted that Natalie had come here just for a little chat.

And boy, was she right.

" _To drag you to hell!_ " snapped Natalie with an angry stomp onto the floor, fists indignantly balled up from her sides, her voice reaching its peak.

At that little outburst, Sinead turned her head to look at Natalie fully with her two eyes. That was when she actually noticed the girl in her completely stressed-out state, her cheeks flushed and her raven hair not quite as impeccable as it used to be.

Sinead found that to be enough reason for concern. "Hey…?"

Natalie forced herself to calm down. She closed her eyes, counted from one to ten, inhaled, exhaled, then lifted her eyelids once more to reveal a more soothed pair of calm amber eyes.

"I apologize for that. Now then. To business. Since I find you quite the capable one, I order you to manage the controls down there with the mariners. I can't do it anymore—those idiots wouldn't stop their insubordinate teasing." And then the girl started stomping away without another word.

"Hah!" laughed Sinead out loud. "Like I'm following orders from a child like _you_."

Natalie stopped walking. Then she suddenly put two of her fingers onto her temple as if to force down a rising headache. "Not you, too…" she grumbled under her breath. "Just do it, alright? To spare both of us the trouble. I'm sure we agree on the same point if I say that the we want this night over with. I have to go to the spa right now and have my beauty sleep. Ta."

In the past, Sinead thought that she definitely would have agreed that all this partying was stupid. But, actually, for some strange reason…she felt absolutely fine if this luxurious night just went on for forever. She felt relaxed, no such stress, and she was actually… _enjoying_ the Founders' Festival, to the point that it made her wonder and even regret that she hadn't been attending its celebrations for the past years. She didn't have the chance to voice out her thoughts, though, as the Lucian had already marched away out of her sight for good, the Starling simply staring after the young gi—no, _hurricane_ , with mild bewilderment in her eyes.

Natalie then slammed the door for good measure.

My. Is that how Sinead always is when she is grumpy? No wonder her brothers were rendered shocked from her out-of-character behaviour earlier.

" _Yep! I'm really excited for tonight's Founders' Festival, really."_

Oh, well. _Happiness is a choice_. President Grace had been right when she had once lectured Sinead about the significances of life, despite the challenges and difficulties that came in and went with it. Well, surely, Sinead hadn't yet forgiven Hamilton completely for the Franklin incident, and she'd forever be the sceptical pessimist she'd always had been, but for the moment, as she looked at the vast, wide blue sea before her, the ship sailing ever so peacefully under the bright, late afternoon sky, she thought that…

That…

Sinead leaned over the railing and stared at the ocean blue for several moments, relishing in the silence, the bliss of solitude, the splash of the cold breeze on her face, and the slam of the sea waves on the ship's surface. The mainland Ireland was already far out of sight and long gone, and on the West horizon was the setting sun in its cool orange hue. She closed her eyes and let her lips microscopically twitch upward into a contented smile.

She opened them once more and looked up at the sky.

…that tonight, she chose to have fun. And have fun she will.

Sinead pushed herself from the railing and went to the door to where Natalie excited. She descended down the stairs, and for a second, she was completely blinded by the bright chandeliers and the sparkling floor. It was a luxury ship, after all, but it was a rather unusual sight—to see that it was _teenagers_ in their informal jeans and T-shirts occupying Universal Force's first class, Victorian style passenger lounge, where Lady Gaga's rowdy song, Applause, blared like a sonic boom from the background.

Ah, well.

The said teens did their business by chatting, eating from the refreshments table, or pouring themselves some orange punch, in manners nowhere near the formal standards of graceful and refined. She heard a guffaw explode from one side of the grand hall as if to emphasize the point made in her head. She was thankful, though, that the lounge wasn't as occupied as it had been earlier in the morning, where it had been as crowded and noisy and messy as a marketplace. Natalie had been stressed, especially with the indecent attitude of the boys. Thankfully though, this late afternoon, people had already tired themselves out in the morning and exhausted their anticipation away. Most of the teens were probably in their rooms right now, taking the last minutes of their afternoon nap, or _beauty sleep_ as some of the girls fancied to call it, to refresh themselves for the night's party.

Sinead's foot accidentally hit on something metallic that slid over the tiled floor. When she looked and picked it up, she realized it was a phone. She looked around her to inspect if someone looked like they were missing something, but unfortunately everyone just looked like they had no care in the world. Hmm. Perhaps she would just have to submit this to the Lost and Found office, then…

She bumped into a boy.

"Oh, oh, sorry, miss!" said the tense child, fumbling to get himself to stand up straight and to fix his crooked glasses back onto his eyes. "Um, I'm sorry, I was just looking for my phone, and…by any chance, have you…?"

Sinead put the phone in her hand forward to let the boy see it for himself. "Looks familiar?"

The child beamed with joy and relief when he saw the familiar device in her hand. "Oh, yes it is!" Sinead gave him the device and the boy took it all too happily. "Thank you very much, miss!"

" _Atticus!_ " interrupted a voice, followed by the sound of rubber shoes pounding on the floor and then the panting of a tall, handsome American teen as he gasped for oxygen. He was bent over his stomach, panting on his knees. Then he looked sternly at 'Atticus'. "Don't run off just like next time, alright! You never _really_ listen to me, do you?" He pinched the boy as if like a mother scolding her impertinent child.

"Ow!" said the boy Atticus, holding his pinched arm. "That hurt, Jake!"

Sinead blinked at the unruly sight of the two boys. Then she waved an arm at them to say her goodbye. "Alright, I'm going to leave you here now…"

"Oh!" said the tall boy Jake as he snapped his head to look at the Starling, in a befuddled expression that said that he didn't even realize that she was standing right next to them. "Oh, ah, sorry if my brother troubled you in anyway, miss. He's nothing but _naughty_."

"Hey!" countered Atticus.

But then, this 'Jake' had already pinched him by the ear and was drawing him away from Sinead, talking to him in a hushed whisper that the Ekaterina could very well hear anyway.

"…seriously, Atticus! Don't do that again. This place is crawling with Cahills!"

"Alright, alright, _I know!_ Let go of me already, Jake! This is so embarrassing!"

Sinead stared after them. Hmmm. _Must be Guardians_. Then she shrugged it off and proceeded to find her way out of the passenger lounge and into the pilot controls, wondering what Natalie wanted her to do there.

Guardians were the labels given to the students of Guardian School, another educational institution closely related to Cahill University. Apparently, some of them had been invited by the headmistress Grace Cahill to attend their little celebration as well. Much has to be said about the Guardians' history alone, but they were generally well-known to the Cahills as those students who came to guard the members of the Elite Seven while they had to go through a mock mission. It was like their very own version of a mock mission. Like the Cahill University, only those on the top of their best class are qualified to go out on a field mission to protect their assigned pair of principals. 'Principal' is the term they give to a Cahill student on a mission that they are bound to protect. If said pair of principals managed to get out of the mission completely unscathed, the Guardian assigned to them would pass the mission, granted that he or she is able to meet a specific set of given criteria.

Outside the passenger lounge, out into the windy deck with the bright orange sunset sky, there were just as many teens as there were in the lounge. Talking and laughing they were, clinking their glasses of orange juice and drinking them as if they were real wine, and then laughing at their childish make-believes. Well, who's to judge? The festival was meant to gather groups of friends together and forget about school stresses for a while. Some of them, though, simply stared at the crowd with a smile on their faces, as if contented that they stood alone in the bliss of their solitudes; while some, well, they took the opportunity to bond together as they leaned over the railing, stared out into the sea, and chatted the time away.

Such was what Amy and Dan could be found doing.

They stared out into the horizon with the deep cerulean sea sparkling below. Far ahead, though, the vast blueness turned into a reflective sheen against the sunset, the sky a beautiful combination of dusty orange and purplish pink colour, the rosaceous glow of dawn painting the air with the sweetness of caramel. Wind blew softly, making the siblings' copper red and dirty blond hair to be blown in gentle waves from behind them.

They talked about all sorts of things, laughing and smacking each other on the back of their heads (uh…actually, Amy was always the smacker and Dan the victim in this case), from calling each other a dork or a dweeb and then back again.

And Amy had just snatched away Dan's phone.

" _Hey!_ " said Dan. "That's mine! Give that back, you nerd!"

Amy held it high above her head. "No way. You're spending your time way too much in front of this phone of yours, chatting a, what, a _gunman_ , you said?"

"He's not a gunman, he's just a real history genius! And yes, guns too," added the harum-scarum little brother.

"Then I'm keeping this," concluded the responsible older sister. "Whoever's behind this… _Naidraug_ guy is a bad influence to you." And then she pocketed the phone.

"Oh, yeah?" challenged Dan, with that infuriating grin flashing on his face. Then he cleared his throat, batted his eyelashes, clutched his chest with his two hands, and with a exaggeratedly loud but high pitched voice, he began saying the oh-so-sweet words through his ridiculously puckered lips.

"Oh, _Ian_ ," he sighed, like the heartbroken Juliet crying for her Romeo, his voice heavy and breathy like he was stuck in a dreamlike trance, batting his eyelashes like crazy. "Wouldn't you be my Leonardo di Caprio, as you put your hands on my waist, and I spread my arms into the air, just like that scene in _Titanic_ , feeling the air blow and—"

That successfully earned him his phone.

And a bruise on his ankle as a bonus at that.

"Gah! OW! I told you to quit doing that, Amy!"

Madly reddening, Amy turned her head away from her brother like a stubborn little child. "And I _told_ you, I _didn't_ enjoy what he did to me yesterday!"

"Aha, oh, _really?_ " taunted Dan. "Because it's _Ian Cobra_ we're talking about here. And didn't he just call you his _lovely_ pri—"

Amy whirled around to face his insistent brother. "Oh, just shut it!"

They continued like that. It was a rare moment of bonding for the two of them, doing nothing and merely teasing each other endlessly in the fading light of the sun, chatting the last minutes of dawn away until the purple darkness of the night eventually swallowed the sky whole and blanketed it with bright stars. By this time, people had already gone up from their beauty naps and most of them were already out into the deck, patiently awaiting the moment when they were going to arrive to their destination. Amy and Dan, however, simply remained as they were.

As Dan spotted one of the chaperones walk behind them to greet his fellow adults, though, a thought came to his mind, and that carefree expression on his face tightened just a bit. His eyes subconsciously followed the man as he talked to his comrades and then clinked their glasses, laughing about some joke that his friend had just made. Amy noticed that sudden drop in her brother's mood and decided to inquire about it.

"Hey…Dan?"

Dan snapped out of his trance and he whipped his head to look back at his sister. "Yeah?"

"You seemed a bit off there," Amy pointed out. Then she craned her neck to the side to see who Dan had been staring at just lately. It was a man with a familiar face—tall, lean, dark, handsome. Marvin Speede. Amy however couldn't figure out what could be wrong with him, so she turned her green eyes to her brother's to know about it herself. "Something on your mind?"

Dan simply shrugged it off and broke eye-contact with his sister. "Nothing."

Amy stared at her brother for a while, as if contemplating whether or not he was telling the truth. Then she decided to let it go. "Okay. If you say so."

A few moments of silence followed after that. Until Dan decided that he couldn't keep it to himself any longer.

"Hey…you know what?" The boy continued staring out into the black horizon, his voice soft amongst the noise of the crowd from behind them. "I have a strange feeling that the mock missions would be…different this year."

"Different?" Amy arched an eyebrow over at him. "How so?"

"It's just that…I don't know." Dan shifted uncomfortably, as if he didn't know yet how to put into words that tingling Madrigal intuition lurking at the back of his mind. "Remember how Grace said that Dean Isabel Kabra got a new secretary? You know…to help her create this year's missions?"

"Oh, so you _were_ listening on Grace's orientation."

A smile broke into the surface of Dan's lips at that. "Nah, just on the important and the suspicious bits. You know how Cahills could get." Dan's eyes turned away. "What with our history and all."

Amy became silent at that. The 'suspicious bits', Dan had said. For a moment, Amy clenched her fists and she stared into space, lost in her own bothersome thoughts. Her old doubts came out reawakened, those questions that she'd been having ever since Grace had entered her into this cursed university and pushed through missions that all but threatened to kill her. What was it, really, that Cahill University was teaching its students in the first place? She looked at Dan, her brother, once a pure white ball of bouncing energy, now tainted by the doubt and suspicion planted onto him by the missions he'd been through last year. And then she thought…

Is Cahill University's goal to brainwash them, and strip them of their innocence, and make them become suspicious of everything?

A rather disturbing voice spoke at the back of her mind.

_The difference between education and brainwashing is paper thin._

"Okay," said Amy, clearing her throat to clear her thoughts as well. _Stop it, don't be so ridiculous_. "So what about that?"

"Marvin Speede," was his immediate answer. "That name. It just sounded…strange."

"Strange how?"

"I don't know…but…it's just…a feeling that I… _well_ —"

"Ah! _There_ you are! _Kiddooos!_ " Nellie came running and she practically tackled Amy with a hug fiercer than a bear, the sober air suddenly brightening up like a thousand lights at the punk au pair's sunny arrival with her loud, multi-coloured hair bouncing from behind her. "I can't find my Sammy anywhere, Ames! I baked him a chocolate gateaux and I was just so sure I invited him to go with us today, but I think he neglected my invitation and is pushing me aside! What am I going to _do?_ "

"Is that even a _question?_ Let's eat the cake!" announced Dan, his mouth already drooling and his tingly hands already reaching out for the cake in Nellie's palm.

Nellie was quick to pull out of her hug from Amy and then slap Dan's away from her specially baked cake. "Sorry, kiddo, but this is for Sammy. I just can't find him anywhere! Have you two seen him?"

Amy could have sweat-dropped at that, had she been a cartoon character. "Nope..."

"Aw." Nellie's love-struck face fell. "I just can't understand why he's avoiding me every time I…"

"AND THE POINT GOES TO THE NINJA LORD!" said Dan, having already snatched the cake from Nellie's hands and already doing his happy dance from far away, making taunting noises and 'L' figures with his fingers for 'Loser'.

"Why, you…" said Nellie with a smirk on her face, who was immediately deffo up to the challenge. "That's for Sammy, you _dweeby little thief!_ "

And so, Amy was left watching the two of them prance around like children, chasing each other and taunting each other while bumping against people who either yelled "Hey, watch it!" or cheered for one of either of them to win, laughing at the unruly sight. Amy herself couldn't help but giggle at those two. But suddenly, an announcement over at the intercom made everyone stop what they were doing and look up.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said an amplified voice, and it was Sinead's, words spoken in a formal yet casual tone that was coated just a little bit by mild anticipation. "Students and teachers, families and acquaintances, Cahills and invited Guardians alike. Welcome to Cahill University's Founders' Festival party organized jointly by the Elite Seven and the Student Council."

At that, Cara Pierce, from inside the ship and just about to pick a pack of potato chips from the refreshments table, smiled.

"Soon," continued Sinead, "Universal Force shall be taking you to the party grounds. But before that, please change into the formal attires that had been prepared for you in your assigned fitting rooms while you wait. Under the command of Miss Natalie Co—uh, Kabra, ladies and gentlemen, please go to the fitting rooms now. Oh, and Miss Natalie would like to explicitly remind the boys that they belong to the 'gentlemen' category. I repeat…"

And the Starling announcer repeated her little declaration from up the control room. That announcement was met with squealing girls and some excited boys, who sensed that they must be drawing near to their destination. Everyone immediately made their way running inside the ship to go to their fitting rooms, which had been assigned to them earlier for a more organized queue. After all, who would want to miss the chance of trying out a first class gown or suit that was rented for them by Natalie Kabra herself?

Dan, apparently. He got dragged away into his doom by his nose-ringed nanny screaming and kicking, wanting to rebel against Natalie's demands but very unable to do so.

Amy and only a few people were left outside, the remaining ones seeming to want to wait out here first and until everybody else were done before they could attend to their own fitting. Natalie, however, came marching towards the girl, and simply wouldn't have any of it.

"The sooner you're done, the better," said Natalie, and she pulled on Amy's hand and forced her to her special fitting room, where manicurists and hair stylists from Paris awaited her arrival, the subject's fancy designer dress tailored by Nancy Hopkins already laid out for her to be fitted in—everything as perfect as Ian had requested of Natalie.

Natalie was simply growing disgusted of her own smitten brother. She regretted having agreed to help him on this matter. Why did _she_ have to take care of this peasant Amy Cahill? She had her own nails to fret about!

* * *

_Two hours later…_

Hamilton felt tight in his own suit and tie. He itched _everywhere_. He was not used to wearing tuxedos, and his Tomas body simply refused to let him enjoy this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But thankfully the ordeal of having to wear it was done, and he emerged from the fitting room as handsomely as any other gentleman who stood in the hallway, chatting with each other and slapping each other on the back as they took selfies of themselves in clothes worthy of a formal end-of-year ball.

And then a camera flashed.

For a moment, Hamilton was blinded, but then he could hear the giggling of two girls. Reagan and Madison, his younger twin sisters, stood before him in their matching ball gowns.

"Hey, why are you two in the boys' fitting room?" demanded Hamilton immediately once he recovered.

"Aw, what a big gentleman he is!" said Reagan, snorting as she laughed through her nose. She pointed at the lousy polka-dot tie that hung from his neck, bright red hearts on a white background and guffawed like crazy. "You're just a cute baby boy, yes you are!"

Madison blurted out a laugh through her mouth and held her stomach like she simply couldn't help it. "Oh my god, I just—I can't even—what kind of tie is _that?_ "

That gained the attention of the gentlemen around him and they saw what the two girls were laughing about. Eventually they laughed along too—some with good-natured cheer, and some with pity.

"Oh, man, you made that tie from your boxers?"

"Oooh, sorry, dude, looks like that tie's the only one left, huh…"

"We're sending this photo to all phones nearby…" began Madison tauntingly, a finger threatening to tap over her touchscreen phone. And then she did it. "Oopsie!"

There was a beep. And then another. And then another. Until everyone else's phone starting beeping as they received the photo of Hamilton Holt with his bewildered face, blinded by the camera flash, his red hearts tie a most amusing sight. Hamilton reddened as he realized this and he chased after his laughing sisters.

"Why, you little!"

Reagan and Madison slapped their palms in a hi-five and then ran out of there, scourging through the hallway as they bumped and collided with their fellow Cahills, leaving annoyed exclamations in their wake. Unfortunately, it was Hamilton who got bombarded with their murmurs of—

"My, is that Hamilton from the Elite Seven?"

"How… _wild_."

"Hey, don't just run in here like that!"

"You teach your sisters good manners!"

Leave it to his sisters to make such a ruckus from a freaking _tie_.

Hamilton burst out through the glass double-doors of the passenger lounge and out into the deck, where he was met by the cold wind and the starry black sky. Panting, he immediately scanned the area for his sisters, but with everyone else dressed in their own fancy glittery gowns and elegant dark suits, it wasn't really such an easy job. The Cahills were chatting with each other and filling the atmosphere with unbridled anticipation, all impatiently waiting for the same thing: the announcement of their long awaited arrival.

And then he spotted the giggling girls, sticking out their tongues at him and making 'Loser' gestures with their fingers.

Determination filled him and a grin crawled into his lips. Like the natural athlete he was, he calculated his obstacles. He squatted in the standard starting position of athletics. He prepared beforehand how he should manoeuvre his feet so he could glide through the crowd easily. He planned about where he'd land once he leapt into the air, and how he was going to twist his body so he could fit in between the gaps…

But just before he had a chance to leap through the air like a released spring, the pinch of Natalie Kabra's fingers had already gripped his ears.

"What the—OW!"

"I thought I've made it _perfectly_ clear, you loggerhead," said the petite girl in her clipped and more-than-annoyed accent, her long and sharp red fingernails digging into the skin of the pinna of Hamilton's ear. "No horse playing around!"

"Alright, alright, I get it! Just stop! That hurts!"

And so Natalie released him, but with utter distaste in her words. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at him in that conceited manner of hers. dressed in a fancy red designer gown, sparkling with glitters and sequins, and her hair flowing down in a cascade of black waves from behind her. The only thing that looked wrong with her was her beautiful face contorted into the eternal scowl meant to debase the humans she loathed.

"If I catch you again, Hamilton, know this. I'll have you _hurled_ overboard."

"So does that mean Dan already drowned, like, three hours ago?" muttered Hamilton, still gently stroking his raw ear.

"Nope!" interrupted a voice, footsteps approaching and a tuxedoed Dan coming from behind Natalie. He pointed a thumb at his bloated chest and said proudly, "This ninja lord before you can never be slayed. I'm _immortaal!_ "

"Ugh," grumbled Natalie. "Only unfortunately said immortal is an idiot."

Dan frowned. Then he turned his back to her and mimicked her words, in a high, squeaky voice and a vulgar imitation of a British accent, "Said immortal is an idiot, said immortal is an idiot! Ugh. What an ugly stuck-up lunatic _gnat_."

That stuck in the air for a full second. When the words finally sunk in, a horrified Natalie whirled around to face him, her cinnamon skin darker than that of normal.

" _I beg your pardon?!"_

"Hey, don't look at me like that, I'm just saying the truth here. You _are_ just an ugly stuck-up lunatic gnat."

"And there the _handsome_ prankster speaks."

Dan grinned. "Says the Miss Cahill _loser_."

That finally hit the target nerve.

"Argh! You just won't stop it, will you?!"

And then the irritated queen gave in to chasing the laughing dweeb, where she might as well have been yelling _"Off with his head, off with his head, OFF WITH HIS BLOODY HEAD!"_ all the time.

Natalie hadn't yet exactly recovered from the fact that she lost against a Madrigal in the Miss Cahill competition last Friday, and she completely blamed the judges' lack of taste and class for that. She had been so confident that she would win, however that ugly wench named Barbara won over the judges' hearts just because she included alleviating world poverty in her kindly yet totally cliché little speech. It was just as what you would expect from a Madrigal—long, drawn-out speeches about universal goodwill and worldwide peace (both of which are unattainable anyway), a complete contrast to Natalie's eye-opening words about the harsh reality of how everyone in the world is a selfish liar anyway, a reason why all people should be careful on who to trust and manipulating others for your own gain is the best way to succeed. Natalie had been so confident that her speech was simply the best, but…blast that _Madrigal!_ And the cheap girl wore heels that weren't even _designer!_ The very disgusting idea of a Madrigal winning over a Lucian was simply beyond her worst nightmares. In the world of the Cahill University, Madrigals were considered as the weaklings, the scrawniest, the talentless. The dignified Lucian who lives up to the name of Luke Cahill is never supposed to lose against any one of them.

And with the upcoming mock mission where Isabel wanted to test her against Dan…

" _But Mother," asked a shell-shocked Natalie early that morning. She is still unable to believe this, and she had the feeling that it would be bothering her for days until the day of the mission itself. "_ Why? _"_

_The answer was immediate._

" _I've been having doubts with your abilities lately, sweetheart, that's all." Isabel said it simply, straightforwardly, indifferently. "After all," she continued, that sweet smile growing larger across her beautiful Lucian face, "you would never come home crying to me after having lost against that Madrigal boy, now…"_

_And then, just like that, a challenge suddenly glinted in her eyes that all but made a shiver crawl down Natalie's spine._

"… _would you?"_

Hamilton simply watched back in disbelief as those two grannies cut through the crowd, Natalie's threats growing ever louder as Dan simply laughed at her face and good-naturedly called her 'Loser, loser!' over and over again, obviously enjoying what he enjoyed doing the most: annoying Natalie Kabra.

The girl seemed to be taking it a bit too personally, though.

"Come over here now so I can _skin you alive and_ _feed you to the dogs_ , you mangy little sod!"

Hamilton chuckled to himself as he shook his head at them. "And she was forbidding me from horseplaying around, huh…"

"Oh, don't mind those two," said a voice, and it belonged to Amy's. "That's just their way of playing with each other like good old friends. I guess," she added, when she noticed that dubious look on Hamilton's face. "But I think it's good to just let Natalie to loosen up a bit like that for tonight. She seemed really tense all day long." The girl shrugged her shoulders. "Must be the stress."

"Yeah, must be that…" And then Hamilton turned to see the Madrigal girl. "Oh, and hey, Ames, I just wanted to ask you someth—n…no. WHOA." The Tomas's eyes bulged out of their sockets as he took in the sight of the girl before him.

Amy Cahill looked _beautiful!_

No, no— _ravishing_ is the right word for it! She stood before him in her silky emerald dress, hugging her slim frame from the shoulder strap that hung on her left shoulder, to the sweetheart neckline rimmed with diamanté and her perfectly corseted waist, down until the rich silken fabric kissed the floor. Her bright red hair was put up in a casual bun atop her head, but the effect of the nonchalant waves of hair down her shoulders sang of nothing but class. Natalie, she definitely had the sophisticated beauty of a girl, but Amy, well…she had the simple beauty of a lady blossoming into womanhood.

"U-Um…" Amy, though, was seriously getting spooked out by now. "Hamilton?"

Ham snapped into reality. "Oh! Uh, yeah?"

"You were…s-staring at me." Then Amy blushed and looked down at her gown. "Do I look _that_ horrible?"

" _Horrible?_ " said Hamilton with a laugh of disbelief. "You look gorgeous! Man, that Ian really _is_ smitten with you, huh? What with all the special treatment and all."

Amy blushed intensely and turned away, pretending not to have heard that little bit as the Holt simply laughed at her denial. She herself was confused as to why _she_ was the only one out of all the attending students who had been brought to Natalie Kabra's personal designer tailor and had her dress handmade.

"Oh, hey, there, kiddos," said Nellie, approaching Amy and Hamilton with a large, toothy smile and a sparkling glass of orange wine in hand (which was only actually orange juice). She walked in her low-heeled shoes, her hair now curled especially for this occasion, though it retained its nuclear explosion of blue, green, white, and neon pink. She had blue lipstick on and the red-and-black dress she wore was a combination of punk and cocktail. Obviously Natalie would never have approved of it, but Nellie had insisted that she would provide her own gown (just like several other students who claimed that they could afford renting or buying their clothes on such a short notice).

"So," began Nellie. "All this time I've been sitting around here, I've been hearing nothing but rumors about where we're really going." She looked pointedly at the two members of the Elite Seven. "Do you two _really_ have no inside information about the destination? Because the tension's practically killing me."

The Tomas and the Madrigal exchanged glances and shrugged.

"You're just as much in the dark as we are," said Hamilton.

"Sinead and Natalie probably know, though," pondered Amy thoughtfully, an index finger put on her chin. Sinead and some few Ekaterinas were the ones who had been assigned to plan the lights and sound systems of the venue, after all, and Natalie, being Ian's sister, surely knew all about his plans in the first place. "And Jonah's on the site already with a group of discreet Januses. You know, for their concert. But other than them, well, we have no idea. But I bet there's something really great in store for us there."

"Ugh, Sammy doesn't know what he's _missing!_ " groaned Nellie. "I wonder what the matter with that guy is!"

"Wh…Whoa…"

"H-How…did _he_ …"

But Nellie barely acknowledged the exclamations of her two companions and the general awed silence that had befallen the crowd, so she merely continued with her griping.

"I do, like, _all_ I can to drag him out of his own eternal shyness—he doesn't know just how drop-dead _gorgeous_ he is to the ladies, doesn't he! UGH. I'd never understand why he never gets out of that laboratory— _cough_ , lair, _cough_ —to socialize even for just a bit. Imagine! The nearest I can get to him is bringing him lunch! Some scientists are just, like, _born_ killjoys, aren't they?"

"Nellie?" Amy's voice brought the au pair back to reality. "You…you might want to look up."

And so, she blinked, and she decided to lift her head up.

And then she _gasped_.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said the thrilled voice of Sinead from the speakers above, "we will be arriving at our destination shortly."

The students gasped in amazement as the smooth, spherical, white airship suddenly rose into the star-studded sky in all its magnificence, glowing high above their heads with its brilliant white light as if it was the moon itself that had visited them to join in the celebrations. With the airship floating just over heads like that, they had the strange, tinkling sensation that something really big was prepared just ahead for them. Written on the giant blimp/dirigible were the words, 'Welcome, Cahills!' in elegant script, and with the signal of a single plain orange firecracker in the sky, followed by the rest of a grand light show of fireworks…

Their eyes began widening in amazement and then eventually burst into a wild applause.

Natalie and Dan had somehow stopped arguing and their feet took them over to where Amy and Hamilton and Nellie were standing.

"Wow!" said Amy to the approaching Natalie. "Ian knows all there is to know about a dramatic entrance, doesn't he?"

"Of course he does," gloated Natalie. "But, a word of advice: don't praise him too much. Because the next thing you'll see is designed by Sinead."

Amy arched an eyebrow. "…Sinead?"

The luxury liner continued sailing forward as calmly and smoothly as a quiet wind in the midst of the night, the airship above them smoothly floating forward as if to guide them gracefully through the water. The students, however, had all gathered to the railing, their heads looking at the direction straight ahead of them, as if trying to glimpse the light at the end of the road. They found the light quite literally, though, as from the very tip of faraway, there glowed just a spark. A small, mere spark.

But then it grew, and it stretched forward and toward them, the light crawling faster and faster until it was revealed that the long stretches of lights were actually spurts of water sprinkling down from a waterproof light source fixed on horizontal bars, which served as the fence that secured the way of the luxury ship. Have you ever visited a park at night-time, where the fountains would be spurting out magical waterworks, the water glowing with different coloured lights, attracting you to touch the enchanting sprinkle? Yes, this little light show is inspired exactly by that. Glowing golden water poured down from the horizontal bars that stretched out for a staggering two hundred feet. But then, the technical details aside, the water showered down into the path of the Universal Force were like little streams of golden, glittery light akin to Tinker Bell's pixie dust, making the swells of the water below glow in an ephemeral gold, like a golden carpet laid out for them to guide their way to their journey's end. The students leaned out in the railing of the ship with amazement in their eyes, their hands reaching out to the glowing water, the sparkling lights reflected in their awed gazes. Some whipped out their phones to immediately take pictures as they went on their smooth sailing, while some merely basked in the dream-like scene.

Amy, Hamilton, Nellie, Natalie, and even Dan who had such a short attention span, were all as captured in it as everyone else was. Their faces lit up in glimmers of gold as they stared out of the railing of their ship, the lights reflected on their faces dancing in the shadows like little faeries. And as Stefan would so beautifully put it, it was an enchanted entrance orchestrated for a party so elegant that it is sure to capture and ensnare anyone like innocent butterflies into the Student Council and Elite Seven's intricately designed web of bewitching pulchritude and ravishing artistry.

"Wow," breathed Dan and Natalie in unison. They looked at each other when they realized it, and then immediately threw their heads back to avoid each other's gazes.

"Idiot," said Natalie, but this time, not nearly as poisonous as usual. There was a small, almost reminiscent, chuckle in the word when she said it, her gaze still out and lost into the shower of lights.

"Gnat," Dan bit back, but his carefree green gaze was glazed out by the sprinkles of lights.

"Sinead was the one who…" began Hamilton, who looked a little bewildered himself. The Tomas reached out a hand as if to touch the sprinkles of water. "…designed this?"

"She's…so… _awesome!_ " Nellie burst out, and she suddenly whipped her phone out of her pocket and threw it over at Hamilton, whom the Holt barely caught and nearly stumbled to the ground trying to catch it. Nellie then enthusiastically threw her arms around Dan and Natalie and pulled them together and urged them to pose in front of the camera. "Come on, you lovebirds! Say cheese!"

The two nearly exploded at that, totally red in the ears as they tried to pry themselves out of Nellie's hold.

"What in the—"

"We're _not_ — _!_ "

Then the camera flashed.

"Cheese!" said Hamilton, who chuckled at the photo on the screen—Nellie's left hand draped around Dan's neck as Dan struggled to get out, and Natalie trying to claw at the face of the laughing Nellie, the sprinkling golden lights from behind them serving as a beautiful backdrop. It was a photo bound to get a hundred Facebook likes and loves and wows upon posting. "Here you go, Nellie!"

"Thanks!"

"Ugh, and what are _you_ laughing about?" demanded an irritated Dan as he gently stroked his neck, glaring at a giggling Amy who had been silently watching the entire scene all this time.

"Nothing, just…" But then Amy giggled again. "You two are just too cute."

" _Cute?!_ " gasped a horrified Natalie.

"BLEGH!" said Dan, who violently coughed then covered his mouth as if sensing an incoming barf. "I think I'm gonna be _sick!_ "

Soon, the ship was only a hundred feet away—and the glowing island finally fell into their sight. Yes, the island _glowed_ —from here they can see the food stalls, the rides, the concert stage, laser lights being blasted into all directions to signal the people there of their arrival. Everyone stared out into the railing, racing to see the glimpse of their venue, awaiting the final reveal, until everyone gasped as they realized where they actually were.

They had learned this from their classes. Except for the Cahills, no one really knows that this island even exists. If you look at the coordinates of the location in a map, all you would really see is a blue patch—because this island is kept as a secret from the rest of the world.

Not in the world of the Cahills.

"Ladies and gentlemen," announced Sinead, "we have arrived."

The students were slack-jawed as the realization dawned. _Of course._ Where _else_ was the perfect place to celebrate the day when Cahill University was founded by the historic children of Gideon and Olivia?

"Welcome," continued Sinead, "to the Cahill Isle."

* * *

Under the witness of a moonless yet starry night, everyone carefully descended from the ship, an excited chattering thrill hung in the cold night air. But then, once the Cahills and invited Guardians, dressed in their complete, formal attires, stepped foot on the land of their festive venue…

All forms of light source were suddenly shut down.

In that instant moment, the whole island was plunged into darkness, and the students expressed their fright of the dark while some looked like they were expecting something like this to happen—because it had happened before.

Ian Kabra watched all this from a hidden tent. Then he sent Jonah an inquiring look.

_Ready?_

Jonah Wizard and the rest of his Janus gang nodded back at him, grins lighting up their faces despite the dark.

_We're ready, bro._

And then the whole universe exploded. *********

" _Hey, yo, let me hear you make some noise!"_

The crowd gasped in awe as the whole island suddenly burst up in a magnificent light show of lasers and fogs and epic sound effects, spotlights dancing everywhere and crossing each other as glittering confetti was suddenly rained down on them—a confetti of pink paper flowers created by the Student Council under Amy's lead. The international pop star rapper was at the centre of it all, walking through the multi-coloured mist floating in the air as the fog machines roared all around them. Jonah had a grin on his face, walking towards them with a swagger in his step, dressed in his concert attire of baggy shorts and silver chains around his neck. When he'd finally emerged from the fog, he winked at a girl in a bright scarlet dress making her suddenly heat up like a kettle and grab at her surrounding friends to keep her from fainting right then and there.

" _CAHILLS!_ " Jonah, ever the concertmaster, sang the word into the microphone to address the crowd, and, suddenly, his fellow Janus, his backup dancers, walked through the fog to reveal their presence. "This party's on in three…two…one…"

"GO!"

* * *

And so, Jonah Wizard and his fellow Janus dancers did their concert/flash mob with all the enthusiasm of the world, which had been thoroughly enjoyed by everyone. Jonah was especially happy, because not only did he absolutely _love_ performing for the people, he actually felt like he was now an official part of a team that he'd once looked up to—the Elite Seven. It was wonderful for him to hear, that while it was Ian who had set the entire plan in motion, Natalie who had arranged the ship and the costumes, Sinead who had led the Ekaterina engineers and Nellie with her modest group of gourmet chefs, it was the one and only Jonah Wizard who had been assigned to lead the entertainment and execute the plans into actual motion. He was actually glad that Ian had considered asking for his free, enthusiastic help instead of just hiring expensive dancers like he did last time.

 _That_ was what he lived for—to be appreciated not merely because of his talent, but because he had _something_ to offer. To be part of a brand new team…

He saw Ian Kabra walking in his Ralph Lauren designer suit from afar, entertaining a bunch of girls, and when the Lucian caught his eye, he gave him a nod and a formal smile. Jonah smiled back.

…with brand new bros.

Jonah was just walking away and waving at the girls from behind him who had just asked for his autograph. His little grand entrance concert was just done, and people were already starting to explore the grounds for more food stalls for food to eat, rides to ride, and games to play with all their other friends. He could see students holding seven-layered gelatos and looking up at it in amazement—Dan was actually holding up one now and was licking the very top golden coffee mocha scoop. There were also girlfriends and boyfriends acting all mushy-mushy while they shared the three-layered cotton candies prepared especially by the Student Council.

He also saw Nellie and her friends chasing each other to paint their faces with the icing of their petit fours and chocolate gateaux. In fact, all desserts here sounded like a mouthful—there were affogatos (some Italian dessert consisting ice cream topped with espresso), banoffee pies (some English dessert made from bananas, cream, and toffee served in a pastry or cookie crumble base), bavaroise (a dessert made with flavoured whipped cream set in gelatin), zabaglione (a light, foamy, custard-like dessert served hot or chilled), charlotte (a hot dessert made with fruit baked with a covering of bread), panna cotta, puits d'amour, foret noire, and all those other fancy French names those gourmet chefs could come up with. It would take a month for mere words to do the food here the justice they deserved.

"Oh, hey there, man!"

And then Jonah brightened like the sun when he saw Hamilton.

"Oh, _Hamburger_ , my main man!" said the Wizard, opening his arms wide and then slinging an arm onto the Tomas' shoulder like they had been best pals ever since. "Enjoying the party so far?"

He and Hamilton had been instant friends almost as soon as the school year started. Perhaps it was because the two of them were complete newbies to the Elite Seven who had no other such affiliations with them or anything of the sort. No one had even noticed it, but now their friendship was growing continually and at quite a promising rate at that.

Dan on the other hand was just walking with his cone of Italian gelato dessert in hand, now licking the second scoop, which was flavoured a rich purple strawberry guava. He had to admit, that Cobra really pulled it off quite nicely. On his other hand, he held his phone, chatting his online friend Naidraug like the obsessed ninja he was. He had to say, though, their conversation right now was really starting to get weirder and weirder by the minute for some reason. Weird how? He didn't know. It was like he felt that Naidraug was the very person right _beside_ him! Really weird, huh? How ridiculous, even by his standards…

Then a boy wearing ridiculously thick glasses suddenly looked up from his phone when he saw Dan with his seven-layered gelato in hand.

"Whoa," said the boy, wide-eyed and mesmerized. "Where on Earth did you buy _that?_ "

"Oh, uh, this? Nope, I didn't buy it—it's for free," said Dan, and then he kindly pointed behind him. "See those large orange refrigerator sized boxes? Those are the ice cream processors. Just ask the man in the costume and bingo."

"Okay, thanks bunches!" The little guy suddenly pulled onto the hand of his older companion and dragged him towards the ice cream source like a child pulling on a mother's hand when he saw the perfect toy. "Come on, Jake! Let's go over there!"

"Alright, Atticus, _alright!_ "

And then, a minute later, Dan received a completely random message from Naidraug.

 _Have you ever tasted something exotic, like, green sugar-coated peppermint_ _ice cream? Because, like, YOU SHOULD TRY IT, IT'S SO AWESOME._

Yep. Weird.

Even Sinead decided to let loose for a bit tonight. The party felt like a mini food trip to her, exploring all the different exotic and gourmet foods, secretly enjoying her little culinary adventure and at the same time admiring the gourmet chefs behind it. After all, cooking is a science, and perhaps a complicated one at that—you have to measure the ingredients accurately, put in the right amount of seasoning, heat the meat in the right temperature, and calculate how the ingredients would blend together in the ideal equilibrium taste. Everything about it was just like chemistry, making chefs great scientists as well. But just as she had ordered for another plate of western style pear plum and blackberry orchard fruitcake and said thank you to the counter…

Sinead immediately turned around, but in her impatience she then bumped into Hamilton and Jonah, making her stagger in her heels and fall—

—hadn't it been for Marvin Speede who caught her from behind.

"Whoa, Miss Starling," said Marvin, his dark, handsome face smiling concernedly down at her. "Are you alright?"

"W-well…yeah, I'm alright. Thanks."

Marvin merely smiled and then immediately went onto his way, Sinead staring after him with slight bewilderment in her eyes.

Which left Hamilton and Jonah panicking about how to deal with Sinead 'Sarcasm is My Middle Name' Starling. The two gentlemen knew their place and that they weren't exactly on 'chillax' terms with her for the moment.

"Oh, yo, uh, Sinead, my main man!"

" _Woman!_ " chided Hamilton, pinching Jonah on the side to scold her. "She's a woman, you dunderhead!"

"Debatable," Jonah whispered back, light-heartedly rolling his eyes. Sinead heard and glared at them, so the two immediately recoiled and decided that they should probably get out of her proximity while they still had the chance.

"Okay, uh, yo, so we're just gonna go—"

"—and leave you alone—"

"—because we know y'all hate us—"

"—so just enjoy your little fruitcake—"

"—and we're just gonna go and grab ourselves some pie." Hamilton paused and looked curiously at a suddenly laughing Sinead. "Wait a minute. Are you… _giggling?_ "

Sinead didn't even bother to answer, and just laughed like that seemingly from out of nowhere. For a moment there, with Jonah and Hamilton connecting each other's sentences like that in such a fretful way…

It had almost been like watching Ned and Ted back at the science fair.

Amy, however, was just by herself, watching everything else from afar. She had a stick of cotton candy in hand, and was just walking away from the cotton candy stand. Reminiscently, she took a mouthful, and relished in the taste as she remembered the events of the Round One Showdown—the Cotton Candy Tree of Lights against Ian and the Elite Seven's seven-layered Italian style gelato ice cream. At that time she had been quite bitter for losing, but right now all she felt was fun. She was enjoying the party quite thoroughly, when suddenly, a voice spoke from behind her.

"Having fun already?"

Amy knew that voice. That superior gloating voice ticked her off involuntary, so the words that she blurted out of her mouth were almost like a reflex. She whirled around to face him and said,

"Why, you little—!"

But then she stopped herself when she remembered.

 _N….no_ , she reminded herself to calm her down. _You shouldn't act like this, Amy. This is…not a contest anymore, right?_

Reddening intensely, she said instead, "W-well…of course I'm enjoying this! Having fun is the whole point of festival, so you shouldn't even be asking me such common sense questions!" But then her little accusations were ignored, because Ian was already chuckling as if he found the very sight of Amy very amusing.

"H…hey!" said the girl, her face a mad red. "What are _you_ laughing about?"

Ian merely chose to ignore that statement as he stared out into the party, where people dressed in their formal attire enjoyed the night away while eating from the numerous food stalls, picking out wicked rides, and playing carnival games where one could win a huge fluffy bunny the size of a seven-year-old child.

"I've prepared all this for you," Ian said suddenly. Then he looked at her, and they met eyes. "I wanted to keep you away from the preparations to make this a surprise for you. Happy Founders' Festival, Amy."

Amy was bewildered and rendered in a silent shock after that little revelation. "For…me?"

Ian returned his gaze nonchalantly back into his masterpiece, the Cahill Island party, like it wasn't such a big deal. "You deserve such a celebration, even if it is in the guise of a school festival. The explanation is that simple."

"But…why…"

"You tend to think too much about others that you forget about yourself. That's what I thought."

That heartfelt response made Amy look up at the boy beside her. A cunning Lucian, a Kabra sadist, a son of a business tycoon—thinking about how much she tended to think about others that she often 'forget about herself', thinking about her, _her_ , legendary clumsy Madrigal bookworm. He stood up, high and proud, a true gentleman of the sophisticated British society—and yet he said he was thinking about _her_. Amy decided right then and there that she liked this softer side of Ian, so she thought that it would be good to pry more of the goodness out of him by praising him for it. So she said…

"This is more than what the Student Council could have ever done alone." She put a hand onto his shoulder and looked softly into his eyes. "I'm glad that the Elite Seven decided to merge with us so we could work together."

"…So," stated Ian, those amber eyes entranced in hers, "you…forgive me for the helicopter incident?"

"It was worth it, Ian!" she exclaimed reassuringly. "I am enjoying this party _amazingly_."

At that, Soft Ian suddenly recoiled and was replaced by the Usual Ian with that infuriating smirk on his face. He immediately tore his gaze away from her as he laughed at the mere notion of the idea.

"Oh, Amy, do be careful when you compliment me. Do you _really_ mean that?"

"Wh-what's wrong with me complimenting you?! Of course I mean it! Yes! I do! I mean, _look_ at this! You were the one who prepared all these and set the wheels into motion. It's all… _amazing_." Then she suddenly spotted the Starling approaching them with a plate of cherry clafoutis in hand. "Right, Sinead?"

"Oh, hi, Amy! And hello, Ian." Sinead took a slice of the cake with her fork and put it into her mouth. "Nice party, by the way."

"My, my," said Ian in mock modesty. "I am getting overwhelmed with all the lovely compliments from the ladies." He looked at both of the girls in the eyes. "I reckon this simply means that you two are now officially conceding before me."

Amy and Sinead blinked at that. "Conceding?"

"I've already taken the liberty to gather the votes of the students," he said, a smug satisfaction in his voice. "Based on our performance in Round One and Round Two, they favoured the Elite Seven more. If you need to see concrete evidence, feel free to visit this website I had created especially for you in case you want to see the name of every student who had voted for us. Which is the entire school, of course." Ian handed them a card. "And since you acknowledge me to belong to the Elite Seven, that means that it is the Elite Seven who had 'prepared all these and set the wheels into motion' to direct the rest of the underdogs under _my_ lead. I hope you remember the terms of our agreement. If I win, along with the remaining Elite Seven, you are going to obey whatever command given upon you. And unfortunately for you…the votes are in my favour." He smirked.

"Checkmate."

Sinead all but hurled her plate of cake at his face. "What? _No!_ "

"Th-this is not a competition anymore!" argued Amy, an uneasy tremble in her voice. "And didn't we m-m- _merge_ in Round Three already?"

"Yes, but even so," answered Ian with a calm demeanour, clearly having expected this coming and having a prepared response in turn, "the Elite Seven won over both Round One and Two. That means that even if we _did_ get a draw in Round Three, you still lose."

Amy desperately searched for something in her head to throw back at him for their little heated debate. "D-D-Didn't I told you I _quit_ the contest already?" she asked, pathetically.

"Yeah!" agreed Sinead, her voice vehement. "That makes everything about our terms _invalid_ , Cobra, so don't you even _dream_ of—"

"Oh, no, Miss Sinead Starling. Who said our terms ever became invalid?" Ian chuckled at that, like Sinead was a four-year-old and he found her assumptions about faeries and dwarfs quite amusing. "Miss Lovely Rank Two here was the only one who declared that she quit the competition. The fact that she made the decision does not, in any way, invalidate our contract. Which means you will obey whatever command your superior commands you." Ian paused from his little speech and the smirk on his face grew ever larger, if that was possible.

"And what's the matter, Sinead? Already cursing Amy for dragging you with her in such a misery?"

A flustered Amy tugged on the cufflinks of Ian's tuxedo and scolded him with a panicked, "Hey, Ian, no need to say something that!"

But Ian simply looked at Sinead challengingly, as if testing her how she'd react to something like that. _If you're really Amy's friend_ , he thought, _you'd be willing to go anywhere with her, through victory and defeat._

After all, caring for Amy also meant caring for the relationships she valued the most.

Sinead unclenched the balled fist she had by her side. Then she sighed, stabbed a fork into her cake, put it in her mouth, and said, through muffled words, " _Fine_. I'll fulfil the end of my bargain, fair and square, nothing more and nothing less. You happy now?"

Ian smiled, satisfied of her answer. "Excellent."

But then, Amy stepped forward, quite anxiously. "Sinead, if you are uncomfortable with this, I can just—"

"Nope." Sinead held out her palm at her to halt her. "It's no big deal, Amy. As I said, I will fulfil the end of my bargain, fair and square, no matter what." She smiled at her to reassure her that there are no hard feelings, and Amy felt relief flood over her when she realized that Sinead was sincerely okay with all this. But, just then, the Starling threw her determined green gaze over at Ian's smirking amber ones, her lips a grim slash of fortitude that challengingly anticipated the task.

"Who takes me, then?" she said. "Bring it on."

Ian lifted his head superiorly.

And on he did.

"Jonah Wizard."

That took a whole thirty seconds for it to fully sink in. While Sinead was undergoing through her shock, though, fireworks suddenly began lighting up the sky, and the crowd cheered at the brilliant aerial lightshow with a united voice, saying—

" _Happy Founders' Festival, everyone!"_

And then _that_ was when it sank in.

" _WHAT?!_ "

* * *

_Later…_

Most of the Cahills were all now sound asleep. The party was done, and it was nearly three o'clock in the morning. The ship was turning around to send the students home. Most of them came to bed exhausted yet thoroughly enjoyed and were out like a light. Some, though, chose to stay up for the rest of the night, now early morning, merely gazing into the sky out in the windy deck. Sinead and Amy stood side-by-side in the comfortable silence, relishing in the cold blow of the breeze with nothing but the company of each other.

"Sinead?"

"Hmm?"

"You're really perfectly alright with the…the Jonah Wizard thing?"

"No. Not really," said Sinead, bluntly and honestly. Then the girl smiled up at her friend. "But don't worry, I'm not putting you on the blame. Partly, though, maybe," she added, jokingly.

Sinead and Amy shared a chuckle at that. Once they quieted…

"Well, I'm sorry about that, really," said Amy, "but…we lost, so…we must do whatever our dear bosses would want us to do for them."

"Hm. I guess so."

Silence.

"You sure you want to stay out here?" asked Amy after a while.

"Yep." Sinead's eyes were closed as she took in the breeze. "You can go to your room and take your nap if you want to. I'll just stay out here for a minute more."

"Okay. Good night, then."

"'Night."

Amy then proceeded to her room and changed immediately to her nightclothes. There were two small yet luxurious beds in the little yet fancy compartment, the other side being Sinead's territory. Instead of Sinead occupying her bed, though, it was her backpack, which nearly looked like it would burst at the seams any moment now. Amy wondered why Sinead had to bring such a huge package with her on a journey that would already provide everything she needed, but, oh well.

Amy switched off the lights and she threw herself on her little bed, burying her head in the plush pillows and breathing in the sleepy lavender scent. She had never before been so overly thankful to finally rest a real bed for a night—these past few days, she often ended up sleeping on her study desk doing nothing but reviewing for tests and upcoming exams. Well, she had her class rank to take care of, and a rival to defeat. But now, she decided to let go of it for a bit let herself fall into a blissful dreamless sleep…

Until the loud ringing of a phone suddenly woke up the dead.

Amy snapped her eyes open and shot out of bed, frightened of the sudden sound for a bit, and bewildered about where it might have come from. But then eventually she was able to calm her racing heart down when her ears told her that the phone was coming from inside Sinead's backpack. And it wouldn't bloody stop. The caller must be so persistent with this call. Oh, great. And just before she was about to go to sleep!

Amy crawled out of her bed and approached Sinead's groggily, the interruption clearly unwelcome for the sleepy girl. She was just going to grab the phone, shut it up, and crawl back to bed and into sleep. But at the very moment that she unzipped the backpack, the phone suddenly stopped ringing.

Ah, fantastic. Just fantastic. Amy was just about to zip the backpack up again, but then the name on the screen of Sinead's phone caught her attention like a corpse's hand tightening around her neck.

_The Grim Reaper. No number attached._

Amy's eyes widened as chills ran up her spine, her skin horripilating as goosebumps rose out of her skin like leeches were suddenly sucking the blood out of her. And then that's when she saw, that deeper inside the backpack, there was the item that had been the object of her consciousness since the fire at the Cahill Manor.

"What…in the _world_ …"

The door opened. Amy jumped, and, breathless, she got herself ready in a martial arts stance.

"Whoa, Amy," said a shocked Sinead, who raised her palms up in the air. "It's just me! What's the fuss all about? And what are you doing to my…bag…"

The Starling's eyes widened as she realized what Amy had just seen in her possession. The object had been spilled out of the backpack, and there was no denying it.

Amy couldn't help the tremble in her voice as she realized this act of betrayal.

"Wh-what is…the Poor Richard's Almanack d- _doing_ in your bag, Sinead?"


End file.
